


It's Just a Dream I Had in Mind

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Series: The Mandalorian [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Bonding, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Found Family, Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Jedi Training (Star Wars), M/M, ManDadlorian, Mando'a lessons, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, and Din rescues Luke in return, episode fix it: s2e6 The Tragedy, or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved.All until he didn't have to.Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Series: The Mandalorian [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088117
Comments: 169
Kudos: 422





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Here's the sequel to Farewell, Oh Farewell and a continuation of my series on the Mandalorian. I'm really excited to further explore what Luke was up to after RotJ, and indeed more interested in a season 2 rewrite where Luke found Grogu on Tython.  
> stop by Tumblr to say hi!! @leiainhoth

Luke froze, his mind spinning as he swerved, the nose of his X-wing diving suddenly before Luke corrected it. Artoo whirled an admonishment, but Luke's mind swam with the influx of information. It was too much, and so _clear,_ the words floating through his mind as he manually updated the nav-comp.

"I know, I know!" he exclaimed, his hands flying over the controls, mindful but mentally distant of his X-wing stopping suddenly in dead space. The words of his masters hung over him, but he _had_ to move; something was wrong. He didn't know what it was _(maker,_ he didn't know _who_ it was), but he had to help them. Wasn't this his mission when he decided to become a Jedi master? To find others like him? To help them, if he could?

Luke corrected his course and turned the nose of his X-wing for Tython.

The force wielder there was strong, stronger than most. They were afraid, reaching out for fear of danger. It was lucky that Luke was close by, it seemed unlikely that another like him could reach the call before he could, but the message still hit him like cold water.

It had been so long since he had felt a presence in his mind; so far as he knew, he and Leia were the only other force-users left. The Jedi were gone, and Luke was the sole survivor of a once-great order— the very last Jedi master.

And now, _this_.

Whoever they were, Luke was desperate to reach them. They might have information to share, insights to spread. They were in danger, calling out from a seeing stone. Luke had been visiting the ancient Jedi temples, scouring the galaxy for something, _anything_ that would tell him more about what it was to be a Jedi. There were so many clues, but they lacked cohesion. The doctrine and mantras flowed through his mind, but if he truly was the last, the very last Jedi, could he train others? Bring other force-sensitive to be one with the force?

 _Help,_ the voice had called, echoing and splintering through space— _danger, capture. Help us._

Luke reached the planet and jumped out of hyperspace, Artoo whirling a warning to his speed. "We need to get there fast," Luke said, his mind swimming with worry.

The planet was rocky, nearly inhospitable. Luke spotted three ships docked to his left, a transport swarmed with troopers, some sort of gunner and _kriffing Hoth;_ it couldn't be. The last time he had seen _that_ ship was before they defeated Jabba on Tatooine, five years prior. _He should be dead!_

He _was_ dead; no one survived a sarlaac. Han had killed him; the jetpack had misfired. But he _wasn't,_ or someone had stolen his ship and landed here for some reason.

The air cleared, and the seeing stone appeared, the blue aura swirling around a figure too small to see. The force user wasn't presently in danger, but Luke watched anxiously, nonetheless. He looked closer; three figures were fighting the troopers in the rocks and seemed to be succeeding. But the child was alone, desperately calling for help.

"We need to land, Artoo!" Luke said anxiously, looking desperately for a landing pad. A shiver ran down his spine, and Luke looked up through the cockpit viewport to see a light cruiser entering atmo.

 _Stars,_ Luke thought, his eyes tracking helplessly from the figure (was it a _child?)_ to the cruiser. He needed to focus, he needed to _think,_ he couldn't risk getting distracted. The child was his only priority: he couldn't think about anything else. They had called for aid, and Luke was anxious to provide it. But if others were after the child, it was his duty to protect him by any means necessary.

"Here we go again," Luke said, engaging the targeting computer. "Artoo, get a read on that cruiser. Scan for life forms,"

Artoo whirled and beeped, and Luke cycled through the settings on his gun array, locking the s foils in attack position, almost like second nature. He did it without thinking, and Artoo beeped to inform him that everything was engaged and ready for battle.

From the belly of the cruiser, four figures emerged, and Luke breathed deeply, desperately trying to keep calm as they made a beeline for the child. The troopers had no life signs; were they droids? Luke sensed no malevolence in them, programming only. He would feel no guilt at destroying them if it meant saving the child.

The first two were picked off with no problem; they kept such a tight formation that Luke supposed he could shoot with his eyes closed. The last one banked suddenly, and Luke's charge flew over its shoulder. He took a breath and fired again, downing it.

The last turned as if identifying Luke as a more pressing threat. He banked hard, surprising Artoo, but the droid followed, growing closer with each passing minute.

"Flaps!" he shouted and lurched forward as the X-wing flew backwards, momentarily stunning the droid. But it turned, and its arm made contact with the starboard wing, breaking off a strut and leaving the ship dangerously unbalanced.

"I'm losing control!" Luke shouted, his hands flying over the navigational instruments, but his ship was falling. The ground flew up towards him, but he managed to glide, favouring the port wing and landing with an earsplitting screech on the rock formation below.

Luke took a shuddering breath, lifting his visor with trepidation. He was safe; it wasn't his _worst_ landing, but his ship…

He groaned, triggering the release mechanism with his thumb before bracing his hands against the viewport, popping the seal with relative ease. Luke clambered out and tried to orient himself. Where was the child? Had the troopers reached him?

"Stay here, Artoo!" Luke shouted, running with all his might towards the seeing stone.

The belly of the cruiser opened again, and the firepower from below the rise steadied his mind. The child was safe; the child _would_ be safe. He felt for his lightsaber on his hip and ran like his life depended on it, up the rise to where the child sat alone and defenceless.

_Help me_

Luke's heart stopped when he saw the troopers, six of them with more incoming, descending to the seeing stone with an alarming velocity. He took the limp child in his arms and activated his lightsaber.

He sensed movement behind him, but Luke moved on instinct, ignoring all else but the ebbs and flows of the force. He was unused to having someone else to protect, but the baby clung to him like a vice; their claws digging into Luke's shoulder. He let the baby clamber up to his shoulder, and flexed his right arm, unhindered in movement. 

He jutted forward as the troopers landed and sliced downward, cutting the trooper across the hips for good measure, another through the knees before beheading him. They seemed drawn to the child; as if they could _sense_ them, as if they were hunting them.

"Kid!"

Luke swerved, unsteady, but corrected himself just in time to parry the block of a trooper before beheading them in a firm strike. The last three figures approached, heavily armed, and Luke felt cornered. Were they after the child as well? Or were they allies?

The child stirred, his thoughts loud and clear in the force. He squirmed, but Luke held him fast, the echoing shots of a sniper rifle just behind him ruffling his hair and hitting the trooper closest to him in the eyes before the nearest figure (a Mandalorian?) gutted him with a spear.

Two left.

Luke turned, too late, distracted and dazed from the confrontation, but the Mandalorian struck first, shocking the trooper with a bolt from a pulse rifle, leaving a sizeable hole in the droids sternum. There was no time to reload, but Luke blasted him backwards with the force, pinning it against the stone before crushing it from within. Luke turned as it fell, facing the others with the child in his arms.

The last figure tore towards him, and Luke moved on instinct, slicing the droid from hip to shoulder.

But he was too late. The droid's arm reached up with inhuman speed and punched him cleanly in the forehead, and Luke blacked out.

…

Din scrambled across the stone, Fennec hot on his heels. The child was helpless, in the arms of a _jetii,_ and Din was desperate to reach him.

The wail of Fett's ship echoed and flattened the grass about them as it flew towards the cruiser. Fennec said something on the comm, but Din rushed forward, taking hold of the child out of the _jetii's_ arms and pulling him close to him. The baby was exhausted; whatever message he had sent was costly.

"Are you hurt?" Din asked, holding the child at arm's length and examining him critically. His HUD displayed normal readings, and the child was conscious; all good things.

"Skywalker,"

"What?"

"The X-wing," Fennec said, lowering her rifle. "I recognize the markings. Skywalker was a pilot in the rebellion."

"He saved you," Din said, pulling the child close before looking towards the _jetii_.

When he had imagined this day, he hadn't expected him to be so young. _Stars,_ he must be younger than thirty, wearing the orange jumpsuit and helmet of a rebellion pilot. Din knelt and let the child spill out of his arms, pressing two fingers against the _jetii's_ throat, pausing until he felt a pulse. Just to be sure, he flipped the boy over and brought his vambrace close to the _jetii's_ mouth, letting his breath fog against the _beskar._ "He's alive," Din began, turning to face Fennec. "He saved the child; we need to bring him with us,"

The child came up behind him, resting a hand on the pilot's foot. "Stay back, Grogu," Din said, removing the helmet and looking the pilot over carefully. He was bleeding heavily, his forehead mottled with young bruises with broken skin. There might be internal damage, but so long as he was alive, the rest could wait. 

Din leant back, sitting on his heels as he thought of what to do.

"More incoming," Fennec said, and Din followed her line of sight. The belly of the cruiser opened, and more than a dozen droids deployed, their inhuman red eyes fixed on the child. "We need to leave,"

"Fett!"

 _"On it,"_ Fett said, his voice crackling in the comm. Fett's ship deployed missiles, and four droids dropped, exploding on the rocks. The ship came about for a second pass, but Din was already in motion.

"We need to leave," Fennec repeated, "they're here for the child,"

 _"Come to me,"_ Fett said, _"I'll open the hatch,"_

Din understood, letting the child cling to his cowl and hold tight. He secured the _beskar_ spear on his back and took his blaster in hand. He wasn't going to lose the child, he wouldn't; he'd die a warriors death before he let his son go.

"Stay still, _ad'ika,"_ Din said, clutching the child close.

The child let out a soft whine, his claws clutching Din's _kute,_ burying his face in Din's neck.

Din turned towards the pilot, the _jetii,_ the man who had saved his child's life and knelt down before him, taking his strange weapon in hand. Din picked up one of his arms and flung it around his shoulders, bracing the man against his side, walking as fast as he could towards Fett.

"Here," she said, taking the _jetii's_ other arm. "We can brace him together,"

Din tucked the _jetii'kad_ into his belt and hoisted the man higher, watching as Grogu tucked himself into his shoulder. The distance was great, and Din was already out of breath. The bag of the child's supplies swung against his hip, but Din ran desperately. The child was safe; Grogu was going to be okay. Din wasn't going to lose him today.

Fett's blaster cannons raised dust and stones around them, and Din ducked, instinctually pulling Grogu beneath him. The baby squirmed and cried out, but droids were gone, reduced to broken durasteel and oil.

"Keep moving!" Fennec shouted, and Din was anxious to follow.

The ship's gyroscopic landing sequence had begun, and Din ran with everything he had, his legs burning with the weight of his _beskar'gam._ The distance was great, and Fett couldn't fully land for fear of the droids on his tail. But Din was afraid, and fear made him faster and stronger. Grogu whimpered in his arms, but Din braced himself, jumping wildly and securing the _jetii_ on the grating, pulling himself up and steadying his footing on hatch before the ship began to rise.

Din lowered his hand, reaching for Fennec and holding her tightly as the ship took flight.

 _"Is the child secure?"_ Fett said over the comm.

"Yes," Fennec gasped, collapsing on the ramp as Fett took flight, the artificial gravity reorienting suddenly. Din offered a hand, and Fennec took it, backing up several metres as the ship took flight.

Din collapsed into the grating once Fennec could stand, pulling the child close to him. His helm sat uncomfortably close, and Din struggled to breathe fluidly as he settled.

 _"Entering atmo,"_ Fett said over the comm, and Din let out a shaky breath as the ship slipped into hyperspace.

…

Din wasn't sure how long he sat on the grating of the hull, clutching the child close to him. The baby was calm and still in his arms, and Din fought the overwhelming panic that threatened to overcome him.

The _jetii_ lay motionless beside him, looking more the boy than the sorcerer, his rebellion flight suit luminescent in the scant light of the hull. His breath was full and even, and the injury he had sustained fighting off the trooper looked painful, the bruises deepening in colour, spreading across his forehead. Fennec had handed him a medkit after they took off, and Din had carefully removed the blood and durasteel shrapnel from his wound, applying bacta spray with a gentle hand. The scanner's report was positive, despite the bruising, it was unable to locate further injuries. The _jetii_ was remarkably unscathed and would more than likely make a full recovery.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the upper levels and then slowed as Fett and Fennec descended the ladder. "Course is set for Tatooine," he said, squaring up Din and the child with an unreadable expression. "Unless you have somewhere else to go,"

"No," Din said, thinking of Peli, of Cobb Vanth in Mos Pelgo. "I have contacts on Tatooine."

Fett nodded and was silent. The baby gurgled on his lap, fiddling with the strap of his supplies. Din had forgotten he was carrying it and set the pulse rifle down carefully before opening the bag. The child squirmed and reached for his bantha toy, tugging it close and gumming on the ears.

"So you captured Skywalker," Fett said finally, looking down at the _jetii_ beside him.

"Who?"

Fett lifted his chin, gesturing to the pilot. "Your _jetii_ is a rebellion war hero,"

"He saved the child," Din said, "I owe him a debt of gratitude."

"His people will come looking for him," Fett said, flipping the pilot over with his boot, letting the pilot's helmet roll across the floor. His yellow hair and pale face were dull in the artificial light, and he looked weak, sickly, almost. Not anything Din would think a famous war hero would look like. "Best be out of the system when that happens, _vod,"_

"I need a _jetii_ to train the child," Din said, looking up at Fett, who shrugged.

"On your head be it," Fett gestured to Fennec, who rose as well.

"Thank you," Din said, and Fett turned. "For taking the child and me, for letting the _jetii_ aboard. Your generosity has not gone unappreciated."

Fett scoffed, crossing his arms over his cuirass. Din was glad he had it, _beskar'gam_ was the pride of a _Mando'ade,_ and Din understood the personal significance of one's armour. It was like a missing limb; being without it was agony. "Foundlings are the future, isn't that what your people say? We are nothing without our _aliit_."

 _"Aliit ori'shya tal'din,"_ Din said, and Fett nodded.

He and Fennec ascended the ladder, leaving Din alone with his thoughts.

…

The hull echoed dully, and the familiar _whooshing_ noise of hyperspace calmed him. The ship was familiar in how most personal ships were, cramped, low ceilings, ladders and the smell of durasteel and oil. This was a nicer ship than the _Crest;_ the twin engines' hum was synchronized, where the _Razor Crest_ had been sporadic, not working at full efficiency. He didn't recognize it, but the shape was unique; Fennec had called it _Slave I._ Must be pre-Empire.

Din sighed, the sudden rolls of loss rolling over him in waves. It had been a long day, longer _,_ when he considered that he had no ship to return to. All that had been left of the _Razor Crest_ was ash and scrap, and the only possessions he had were what he had been carrying when the ship had exploded. He felt his eyes close; the loss was deep, deeper than Din wanted to admit even to himself. The _Crest_ wasn't much, but it was home. Surely the only home he had since the covert had scattered in Nevarro. The damn thing had kept him safe, given him leave to leave whenever and to go wherever he wanted to. It had kept the child's hunters away, it was _his,_ and now he was unmoored without it.

What had he now? How could he protect the child with no credits, no transport? Nothing besides a bag of biscuits and baby clothes and an unconscious _jetii._

Calling out through the seeing stone had exhausted the child, and as he settled, Din sat quietly, rubbing a hand over the child's back as he fell asleep in his arms. Something in his heart ached to see the baby here; all the anxious thoughts he had garnered in preparation for meeting the _jetii_ on Tython had left him drained. The child was safe, Din could keep the child close; they had found a _jetii_ that he hoped would train the child. Din needed him to be safe, to be protected. He wasn't sure if this _jetii_ was up for the task, but if he had the child's sorcery, his aid would be necessary for the days to come.

Din lifted his knees, letting the child rest against his thighs as he considered the man in front of him. He was lithe and muscular, his hair curling and falling gently over his forehead. And his eyes, Din remembered that they were blue; a startling, unnatural blue. His _jetii'kad_ was still on Din's belt, and he brought it out, holding it carefully in his palms before looking back at the man. The hilt was worn, silver with a long enough grip to be wielded with two hands, if necessary. There was a control panel, a hook, and an empty cylinder Din supposed the blade retracted into. It had been a green blade, and it had hissed when it came in contact with the droids, slicing them open like nothing Din had ever seen. It was a strange weapon, surprisingly heavy and awkward in his hands. Was this the formidable weapon of the _jetii?_ This strange retractable laser sword?

Din thought back to Ahsoka's blades, white with a curved grip and pommel. They had been the first _jetii'kad_ Din had seen in person. As a child in the covert, the stories of the battles between Mandalorians and the _jetti_ had never interested him— the Jedi were gone, and the Mandalorians remained. There was nothing but old scores and rivalries, and sorcery held little sway for him.

Mandalorians fought for honour, for their _vode_ and their _aliit,_ bringing back credits to support the covert. Din had been his covert's _beroya_ for twenty standard. He was seasoned; he knew the price of favours and debts: this _jetii_ had saved his life, saved his child's life. He'd keep this strange sorcerer safe until he recovered.

Din set the _jetii'kad_ down beside the _jetii_ and let his thoughts settle. He could hear the soft murmurings of Fett and Fennec in the cockpit. It would be hours until they reached Tatooine, and Din would need his rest. The _jetii_ sighed in his sleep, murmuring something too soft for Din to hear before he closed his eyes and settled in to rest.

…

"Mando," a voice called from above him, and Din's hand shot to his blaster before he was fully awake, cocking it and pointing the barrel towards the unfamiliar voice. The child stirred unhappily in his arms at the sudden movement, but Din focused his eyes with difficulty, lowering his blaster as he came to. "We've cleared atmo," Fennec said, and Din lowered his blaster. "Boba wants to know if you have a preference to where we land,"

"It's his ship," Din said with a groan, the dread of his destroyed ship at the forefront of his mind. "It's his decision,"

"Where are your contacts located?"

Din thought for a minute. Tatooine was rugged, wild, occupied by crime syndicates and scavengers. But it was also predictable; he could and should expect enemies at every turn. He had spent time there, lived with the Tuskens as a young man, and the dustball was as familiar to him as anywhere else. There was a guild contact in Mos Eisley if he needed work, but…

"Mos Pelgo," Din said finally, standing up and taking the child in his arms. "I have a friend in Mos Pelgo,"

Fennec nodded, ascending the ladder without another word.

Below him, the _jetii_ groaned, and Din felt the baby struggle in his arms. Din tensed, unsure if he was ready for company. "No, stay here, Grogu," Din said softly, holding the baby close. "Just for now. Until we know who he is,"

The baby babbled something, and Din wished that Grogu would share his thoughts again. At least he'd know what the kid wanted, but his body language was clear enough. He wanted to be let go, to be put down.

Din sighed, crouching down and letting the kid crawl out of his arms. He made for the _jetii,_ and Din kept one hand on his blaster as the kid extended a hand and laid it gently on the _jetii's_ shoulder, closing his eyes.

With a shock, the _jetii_ woke, and the baby jumped back. Din pulled the child into his arms and stood without a second thought, putting space between Grogu and this sorcerer.

"What?" The _jetii_ said, looking around frantically. "Where am I?"

"You're on _Slave I,"_ Din said with a measured tone, keeping his body very still.

" _What?_ Why?"

"You were injured," Din said carefully. "After an attack by the Empire on Tython,"

A look of sudden comprehension flew over the _jetii's_ face, and he looked up and around the room with sudden curiosity.

"The child," the _jetii_ said softly, looking at Grogu. "Yes, it's coming back to me,"

The _jetii_ looked up at Din with those startling blue eyes, their eyes meeting on the first try. There weren't many who did, most looked high and met his forehead, but this stranger met his gaze full on. It was disconcerting, and Din felt the same as when the child connected with him, when he shared his thoughts. Din took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay still.

"Thank you for saving me," the _jetii_ said, dusting off his flight suit before sitting up and crossing his legs.

Din nodded, half-listening to the child as he babbled, but also to this strange man in front of him. He was tempted to pull the child close and walk away, let Fett deal with this rebellion pilot, this _Skywalker._ But the baby struggled in his arms, and he let him down gently. 

"Are you—" Din said, his voice halting. He cleared his voice and continued. "Are you like him?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," the _jetii_ said, looking up at Din before taking the child in his arms. Grogu babbled and blew a raspberry, coaxing a grin out of the stranger. The two sat in silence for longer than what Din was comfortable with, perhaps talking through the force like Grogu and Ahsoka had on Corvus. The baby giggled suddenly and then turned to face Din with a grin on his little face.

"Grogu is formidable in the force," the _jetii_ said, letting the baby toddle out of his lap. Din watched as he took hold of his boot, smiling as he took the child into his arms. "He tells me that you are his, his _boo-eer?"_

" _Buir,"_ Din corrected, flushing. "His parent."

"Oh!" the _jetii_ exclaimed. "That explains it,"

Din looked at him, unsure of how to respond.

"I've been rude," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Luke."

"Mando," Din said, shaking his hand in the strange way core-worlders did, their hands dipping and shaking between them.

"That's not your _real_ name, is it?"

"No," Din said, resisting the urge to pull the baby close to him.

"Oh," the _jetii,_ Luke said, as if he was disappointed. "I never asked, where are we going?"

"Tatooine, Fett has business there,"

Luke looked around, suddenly restless. "I need to get back to Tython, my ship... _stars_ my _droid_ is still there!"

Din nodded, a strange feeling tugging in his chest. He had just found a teacher for the kid, and he already wanted to leave?

"Leia must be worried," Luke said, pacing back and forth, patting his pockets as if looking for something, before groaning unhappily and dropping his hands. "And I lost the commlink."

"If you know her code, I'm sure Fett could get a message through,"

Luke waved a hand, dismissing him. "Oh, stars, she's gonna _kill_ me!"

"Fett could—"

"Fett tried to kill me!" Luke said quickly, not quite meeting Din's eye. "Years ago, he worked for the Empire. He should've killed me already. Han, my brother in law, he killed Fett once already. I can't imagine he has a soft spot in his heart for me."

"Oh,"

"Yeah,"

The awkwardness hung in the air, perforated by Grogu's babbling.

"I'd offer transport," Din said feebly, "but my ship was destroyed. I have a friend in Mos Pelgo, I'll stay with him until I have enough credits to secure transport off-world." Din thought for a minute, considering this strange man in front of him. "If you have nowhere to go, you're welcome to stay there. There's room; he might have a comm,"

"Mos Pelgo?"

"Yes,"

"I didn't know that place still existed,"

"It does," Din assured him. "I was there recently,"

"I mean, if there's space,"

Din nodded, glad that his face hid his expression. He was unsure of what to think of him, this strange _jetii_ who seemed far too perky for someone who spent the last few hours unconscious from a head wound.

"And then back to Tython to rescue my X-wing,"

"If you think you need to,"

"And my droid,"

Din exhaled forcefully.

"And my droid," Luke repeated, and Din rolled his eyes, not that the _jetii_ could see. 

"And then in exchange," Din said, taking a step forward. "If you're like the kid, could you train him? Teach him the ways of the _jetii?"_

"If he's willing," Luke said, grinning at the baby. "He's young, a child. I've only ever known one other of his species, a great Jedi master. He's dead, now,"

"Oh," Din said, wishing he had something else to say. The tiny hope he had held for meeting another of Grogu's kind was squashed in an instant. He had hoped that the Jedi would have more to say about what Grogu was, what he needed.

"But yes," Luke said, offering a lopsided smile. "I've been looking for force-sensitive younglings. I'm hoping to start a new order of Jedi, but they're few and far between these days.

Luke took a step forward, and Din balked, uncomfortable by the nearness. "But it's not because of a deal. I _want_ to train him; he's strong with the force, he deserves to know more about who he is. I want to help him,"

Din nodded, taking a half step back and letting the child play with his cowl. "He's my son; he deserves to learn."

"You mean a lot to him," Luke said. "He told me."

"Mhmm,"

"I hope you don't think that—" Luke sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I hope you don't think that I'm going to _steal_ him,"

Din didn't respond, but his heart was heavy. The weight of the child on his chest was comfortable, familiar. Din wanted better for him, wanted him to succeed and grow stronger with his magic powers. But the thought of losing him…

He was going to have to give up the baby after all.

"I'll be out of the way," Din said, hurriedly. You don't have to worry about me,"

"I mean, there's plenty of room," 

"No," Din said, closing his eyes tightly, not that the Jedi could see. "No, I'll give him up. He deserves better than what I can give him,"

"No," Luke said, earnestly. "You misunderstand me. There's plenty of room for _both_ of you, where the child goes, you're welcome to follow,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr! @leiainhoth


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and the Mandalorian land on Tatooine and begin making plans for the child's future.

Luke struggled down the ramp of _Slave I,_ his eyes fixed firmly on his feet as the achingly familiar heat of Tatooine enveloped him. Luke knew that Boba Fett was behind him, and Luke desperately hoped that Fett had forgotten the altercation at Jabba's palace all those years ago.

 _I mean, probably not,_ Luke thought with a sigh. _He was tossed into a sarlacc pit and left for dead. I wouldn't forgive me either._

The Mandalorian descended the ramp, a half step behind. His son, Grogu, blubbered mindless nothings in the way children do. Din nodded and made affirming noises as the child spoke, and the child glowed golden in the force, pleased and relieved to be reunited with his father.

Luke wondered, and couldn't help wondering, whether the Mandalorian knew how much the child spoke. His sentences were simple, but the love was overwhelmingly sincere. The child thanked his father for rescuing him, saving him, and for packing those blue biscuits he loved. Luke smiled, happy to bask in the child's love.

"Thank you," the Mandalorian said to Boba Fett, standing firm and steady despite the heavy load on his back. Fett nodded in affirmation and let them be, boarding the ramp and closing the hatch.

Luke stood by the Mandalorian on the outskirts of Mos Pelgo as _Slave I_ took off, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He was grateful that was over with; he was already mortified by his sudden injury from the troopers. He didn't need Boba Fett, of all people, knowing about it.

 _Kriff,_ he wished he had a comm. If he did, Leia and the others could be here in a matter of hours. Even if the Mandalorian's friend had a commlink (and in the more likely occasion that they didn't), he'd be here for some time. He sighed, already dreading it.

Luke looked down, suddenly feeling foolish wearing his flight suit and helmet in the arid landscape. He'd be boiling in no time. Then again, the Mandalorian was dressed in full armour, and he didn't look uncomfortable.

"So Mos Pelgo," Luke said, just for something to say. Mando was quiet; his words were well chosen but sparse just the same. Luke didn't feel… uncomfortable, not really, although he was stuck on Tatooine with a Mandalorian and no way out. His heart ached for Artoo, for his lost ship. It was a piece of junk, but they had survived a lot together. With any luck, he'd be able to repair it whenever they left Tatooine.

 _If_ they ever left.

The Mandalorian walked surely, and Luke had to make a funny half-step to catch up. The baby babbled on, snuggling close to his father. The similarities between Grogu and Master Yoda were uncanny; he had never seen another being like them. But the child was _strong;_ despite his stature and age, Grogu was formidable in the force. And there was something about the Mandalorian too, something faint, a fledgling bond Luke struggled to quantify. So far as he knew, the Mandalorian was normal, not a force user or even force sensitive. But it didn't explain it; the child had formed a force bond with his father, somehow. The specifics were hazy, but it felt new and _strong,_ reinforced through love and affection on both sides.

"I have a friend; he's the Marshal of Mos Pelgo," Mando said, slowing down and letting the child drop into a satchel resting at his hip. The child warbled happily, clutching his toy bantha close, and Luke shook his thoughts away. "I don't know if he has a comm, but he'll have lodgings and supplies."

"Uh, good. Thank you,"

Mando looked over at him and tilted his head as if asking an unspoken question. Luke flushed, feeling the Mandalorian's gaze even through his helmet. Had he done something wrong? Had Luke… offended him, somehow?

"I didn't know that there was anything here," Luke said, walking a half step behind, trying to keep out of the Mandalorian's line of sight. "Mos Pelgo's been abandoned for years; it's not even on the maps of Tatooine, last I checked."

The Mandalorian didn't respond, keeping his eye fixed on the tiny settlement as they walked. The outpost was sparse, with huts and houses, livestock and larger houses on the outskirts. Luke had never been out this far before, even as a young man growing up on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. His youth was spent driving decaying speeders with his friends, not exploring ghost towns in the middle of nowhere. Even if they were careful, the threat of being captured by the Sand People and rogues was real enough to keep them moving quickly.

"When I was younger," Luke began. "The pilots and bounty hunters used to tell stories of Mos Pelgo. They said it was cursed,"

Mando didn't respond and instead reached into his belt and retrieved a ration stick, splitting it in half and feeding half to the child, who took it happily. He paused and then offered the second half to Luke.

"Thanks," Luke said, taking it. He went to take a bite but hesitated. The Mandalorian was taller than he was, certainly broader; when was the last time he had eaten something?

There was nothing to it; he could wait— certainly, this Marshal would have food for them in town. Luke broke his piece in half and offered it back. Luke could tell that the Mandalorian was hesitating; other than Boba Fett, his companion was the only other Mandalorian he had met. Perhaps he had eaten while Luke was unconscious, but somehow he doubted it.

"I can't remove my helmet in front of others," The Mandalorian said, tilting his chin towards Luke. "It's part of my creed,"

"Oh, I didn't know that," Luke said, strangely abashed. "I'm sorry for insinuating—"

"You didn't know," the Mandalorian said curtly.

They walked in silence, and Luke felt extraordinarily exposed. Other than his lightsaber (which he had found near him when he came to in the hold of _Slave I),_ he was wearing a _very_ public declaration of his allegiances in a particularly unfortunate colour. Who was this Marshal? What had Luke got himself into?

He didn't know this Mandalorian; he didn't know his son. Leia was hounding him to be more mistrustful of strangers, but there was something about him that Luke couldn't shake. Grogu was strong, stronger perhaps than Luke himself had been when old Ben taught him all those years ago.

Luke nodded, just for something to do. The binary sun's heat after so long in hyperspace was shocking. He felt perspiration on his forehead and wiped it off with the back of his hand. It had been years since he had been on Tatooine, the day that he, Leia and Chewie had rescued Han from carbonite was the last time he had set foot on his home planet. It wasn't like he _hadn't_ considered coming back; it was where his father was born, where Luke himself had spent his childhood years. There were ghosts here, and Luke couldn't bring himself to think of Owen and Beru, their hastily dug graves and abandoned farm. There was so much he hadn't known then, how foolish he had been to take off after a droid with nothing to defend himself!

Ben had saved the day, but his aunt and uncle had died anyway. Their deaths were on Luke's head, whether he acknowledged them or not.

Luke scarfed down his ration and took a shaky breath. There was no use in resurrecting old memories; what was done is done; even a Jedi can't change the past.

The town grew ever closer, and the view of Mos Pelgo was bleak, smaller by Mos Eisley and Mos Espa. A singular street, by the looks of it; a small town with folks of all sorts sitting in the shade, moving throughout the market and the cantina.

 _Wait,_ Luke said, tilting up his visor for a closer look. _No, it couldn't be!_

"Are those Sand People?" Luke asked the Mandalorian, unable to believe his eyes. "In the town?"

"Lower your voice, _jetii,"_ the Mandalorian said under his breath, taking Luke's upper arm and guiding him through the street.

Citizens and Sand People alike had somehow settled _together,_ speaking both Basic and the strange hawking grunts of the Sand People, gesticulating all the while. Luke didn't know where to look, the Sand People were everywhere, and Luke was all but defenceless. The Mandalorian had a _child;_ how could he be so calm?

But the Sand People didn't seem to be interested in them. Speeders and bantha's hitched to posts dug into the sand waited along the road, and the citizens of Mos Pelgo went about their business almost as if Luke and his companions didn't exist.

"Mando!" a voice cried out. Luke turned his head, one hand on his lightsaber when a man exited the cantina. He was older, Luke supposed, with a flap of greying hair and a smile on his face. He held himself with a sort of confidence that Luke had long ago recognized in his sister, the air of a leader.

This must be the Marshal.

"It's good to be seeing you again," the Marshal said, shaking the Mandalorian's hand. The baby cooed, and Luke's eyes bulged as the Marshal reached a hand into the satchel and ran a hand over the child's ears. "Not many visitors to these parts," he said as if nothing was amiss. Luke himself had only known the child for less than a day, but this nearness frightened him. Luke's eyes still swam, buzzed from his head injury. If a fight was coming, he didn't know if he could defend all three of them.

"I'm looking for lodging," the Mandalorian said, "and a comm, if you have one. My ship has been destroyed."

"That's a real shame," the Marshal said, seemingly looking over at Luke for the first time. "The _Crest_ was a real treasure."

There was a pause, and Mando stepped aside, leaving Luke alone.

"And who might you be?" the Marshal asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Luke. "You don't see too many rebellion pilots around here,"

Luke swallowed. "Just Luke."

"Well, _just Luke,"_ the Marshal said. "You and your Mando here are welcome to stay as long as you need. I'm sorry to admit that we have nothing in the way of a communication array, too far away from Mos Eisley, as we are. That being said, there are speeders and bantha's, and you can make use of the facilities over there. We have a caravan leaving in that direction in three days' time."

"Raiders?" the Mandalorian asked, and the Marshal nodded.

"And bandits. Been a real uptick in scavengers and bounty hunters in these parts since you left, Mando," the Marshal said, shifting his feet in the sand. "Now that we have a treaty with the Tuskens, one problem is solved, but another came along to replace it. We could use your help if you'd be obliged."

The Mandalorian nodded, and the pair walked into the cantina.

Luke followed at a distance, uneasy even with the Marshal's talk of a treaty. The Sand People were vicious and merciless; in his youth, Luke had almost been killed by them more than once. Their presence here made Luke distinctly uncomfortable, and he kept a hand on his sabre without truly thinking about it.

The cantina's air was cooler, and the conversations of patrons quieted immediately as the Mandalorian cleared the threshold. Luke straightened his back and walked in behind him, trying to remind himself that he had nothing to fear. If anything, more eyes were on the Mandalorian than him.

And he was a Jedi; he could handle it. Whatever was to come.

The company varied, the barkeep was a Weequay, by the looks of it, but most others were human. Or human-esque, anyway. There were both men and women, wearing the achingly familiar look of farmers and miners; with rough clothes and sun-worn faces. There were children also, some twenty in all.

"Rebel scum," a woman spit out from a table near him, her eyes narrowing with hatred.

"I'm just—"

"Leave him be, Agatha," the Marshal said, patting the woman on the back. She grumbled, sitting back down. "He's just a little lost, is all. We'll have them both sorted in no time,"

The woman scoffed, and Luke tried to hide how shaky he was, feeling exceedingly foolish in his flight suit and bright white helmet. 

"Just here," the Marshal said, leading him and the Mandalorian to a table. His companion sat and pulled the child out of his satchel, letting the baby settle on his lap.

"A drink, I reckon," the Marshal continued, smiling at the bartender as they approached. "But none for Mando, thank you, Weequay,"

The barkeep nodded, leaving two glasses and a glass bottle of bright blue spotchka on the rickety table before leaving.

"Lodgings are easy," the Marshal said, pouring two healthy measures of spotchka and pushing a glass towards Luke. "I've an empty house, as a matter of fact. Just up the road. You'd be welcome to it,"

The Mandalorian nodded, and Luke fiddled with his glass, wishing he had something to offer, something kind to say. The day had been a mess, and Luke felt very much so on the back foot. This wasn't a world he was used to. Over the years, the name Skywalker and its associations with the rebellion and the Jedi order had followed him like a shadow, but here, he was an enemy.

He was decommissioned, of course. The war was over. But some still referred to him as a commander, those who had known his father and had comments to share about his service. But that was on the core worlds, on Chandrila and Coruscant and Naboo. Civilized places with ties to the New Republic. Tatooine was different; it was his home planet. He hailed from here; his grandmother, his aunt and uncle were buried here. There would always be something that brought him back, even if the memories had soured with time.

He may be a Jedi, a commander and squadron leader in the alliance, but he would always be that farm boy from nowhere on Tatooine, and a small part of him resented it.

And it couldn't be clearer to whom he belonged, from whom he drew his allegiance. The symbol of the rebellion was painted on his helmet, and the orange flight suit of the rebellion pilots was recognizable even in the middle of nowhere. 

"What's the job?" Mando asked, letting the child hold his finger with his clawed hand, looking down with what Luke suspected to be affection as the child chewed on his glove.

"Not a job, a favour," the Marshal said. "You did this town a great service, killing the krayt dragon. We're thankful, _grateful,_ is being more like it. Tensions have settled between the Tuskens and my people. We live in peace, and we want to keep it that way,"

The Mandalorian nodded, his face impassive and blank beneath his helmet.

"But we'd appreciate the help, just the same," the Marshal said. "Raiders have been stripping our equipment, threatening our citizens. It isn't a job, but a Mandalorian invites a certain amount of… well, let's just say they'll be sure to stay away with you close by. I'd welcome the help; one man can only do so much. You've left an impression,"

"And the child?"

"He'll be taken care of," the Marshal assured him. "We've a school; he'll be well looked after,"

There was a pause, and Luke jumped to fill it.

"I can… watch him," Luke said, turning to the Mandalorian. "Begin to assess him for lessons. If—if you're okay with that,"

The Mandalorian nodded and then looked down at the child in his lap. "Thank you,"

Luke smiled, taking a sip of his drink. Finally, he had done something right.

"There isn't much in the way of comfort in Mos Pelgo," the Marshal said, leaning back in his chair and settling his boots on the table. "But until the caravan leaves, you and your child'll be seen to. He and your… friend,"

"Luke," he said, not quite sure how to quantify their relationship either. He wasn't the child's teacher, not yet. He had only met the Mandalorian a few hours ago. They were nothing to one another but thrust together, nonetheless.

"Luke," the Marshal affirmed, nodding at him. Luke downed the rest of his drink in one, already uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. "We'll bring you to Mos Eisley when the caravan departs, I'd be happy to escort you, but Mando here can handle himself," the Marshal said, slapping a hand on his companion's shoulder.

The Mandalorian snorted, amused, somehow.

"But enough chatter," the Marshal continued, shooting his drink back as well before standing. "I'll show you to your quarters."

…

The house was sparse, but clean and well maintained. A small living area with comfortable looking chairs and a table filled most of the room. There was a broom in the corner and desert plants in the window box, and despite its modesty, it would do nicely. They only had to be here for three days, anyway.

Luke turned, grateful to be out of the heat, and spotted a small kitchen against the back wall, as well as a conservator and an archaic-looking heating element. A staircase led below ground to what Luke suspected to be living quarters. The ground held heat, and the cold killed on Tatooine.

Before they had left the cantina, the Marshal caught his arm and pulled him aside. The Mandalorian paused, his eyes finding Luke's, but he nodded, and his companion turned his attention to the child.

"I might have something less…conspicuous, if you catch my meaning," the Marshal explained, looking at Luke's flight suit with a smirk. "Wait right here, I'll fetch them."

The clothes were well-worn, but they fit him well. A loose pair of trousers and leggings, a tunic and comfortable boots as well as a poncho intended for the evenings. It was thoughtful, and when Luke looked at himself in the glass, it was like he had never left Tatooine.

He folded his orange jumpsuit carefully and placed his helmet on top, unsure how he felt to remove them. He missed Artoo desperately, and he wished he had the means to return home.

These people were offering him hospitality with nothing expected of him in return. It was strange but welcome. And anyway, it would all be over in three days. All he had to do was wait— he had been in stickier spots before. Leia would be here to rescue him before he knew it.

The Mandalorian walked through the doorway, his armoured form intimidating and large compared to Luke. The child gurgled in his arms, speaking words of comfort and safety, and the Mandalorian looked down at him, pulling the child close.

"I'm sure you're exhausted," Luke said, nodding in the direction of the staircase. "If the child wants to rest…"

"He'll be fine," the Mandalorian said, bending down and letting the child explore the room. Luke watched him with interest as the child babbled, walking around the table and chairs on his short little legs.

"Thank you for saving him," the Mandalorian said, and Luke whipped his head around, startled. "I don't—I don't want to think about what could've happened if the Empire took him. You saved us, _all_ of us,"

"It was nothing,"

"It wasn't nothing; you saved our lives. Thank you,"

Luke looked down, suddenly bashful. It was strange, but the Mandalorian's praise _meant_ something to Luke. Had he been faster, the Mandalorian might not have lost his ship, and they wouldn't be in this mess. Had he been more focused, more in tune with the force, he might not have been injured in the first place; he wouldn't have lost Artoo, his ship. There were so many things he would've done differently.

The Mandalorian set down his rifle and placed a cloth satchel with a pendant attached to the handle on a chair. The symbol was familiar, could it—

"Is that a Mythosaur?"

The Mandalorian paused, looking over at Luke with what he understood as surprise. "Yes," and then, "It's a symbol of Mandalore,"

Luke fiddled with his lightsaber, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the idea of spending three days alone with this man. He supposed that now was as good as a time as any to begin the child's training. Luke reached out through the force, sensing the faint connection between Grogu and his father. It was strange; it almost felt reciprocated, a two-way connection.

"Forgive me for prying," Luke said, blinking open his eyes and turning towards his companion. "Are you, can you…"

"Can I what?"

"Can you use the force?"

The Mandalorian hesitated, his body tense. "No, I'm not _jetii."_

" _Jetii?"_

"A Jedi," the Mandalorian explained. "I'm not like you. I don't have any sorcery; only the child does,"

"Are you sure?" Luke said, unsure why he was pressing. "Have you ever…felt the child, felt a presence in your head that was not your own?"

"No," the Mandalorian said, and Luke balked. "But the child, you said you could train him. I'm not a _jetii,_ but the child could be."

"Yes,"

"Can you," the Mandalorian said, pausing before he spoke. "Can you understand him?"

"Yes," Luke said, sitting down on the chair beside the child. Luke looked down, grinning as the child pinched his hands together, wanting to be picked up. "May I?"

The Mandalorian nodded, and Luke lifted the child, settling him on the table in front of him. The baby sat, settling in and blinked his large eyes at Luke. The force danced around him, rippling in waves, connecting him to his father, to Luke, to the air he breathed and the dust beneath him. It was a power Luke had never seen in a Jedi before. "We'll begin with the basics; he's a child."

"Like you?" the Mandalorian asked, cocking his head as he considered Luke.

"I'm not a child," Luke said petulantly, standing up as straight as he could. "I'm twenty-eight."

"So, a child," the Mandalorian said, gesturing to the child with his thumb. "My kid's older than you,"

"What?"

"He's fifty, might be fifty-one standard."

"Huh," Luke said, shrugging. Yoda had been over nine-hundred when he died, and he was the only other of Grogu's species he had ever met. Grogu looked like a child, but his eyes were bright, full of intelligence. 

"He held back a flamethrower, once." the Mandalorian said, and Luke looked up in shock. "He healed a companion of mine, saved his life. He lifted a fully grown Mudhorn with his mind. My son is capable of incredible things…but I can't teach him. He needs a teacher,"

"I understand," Luke turned to look at the child, considering him in a new light. "Are you ready to begin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So canonically, Luke is 5'8. Pedro Pascal is 5'10, but with the boots and the helmet, I can see him standing closer to 6 foot, 6'1. Tall enough that Luke has to look up to look Din in the eye, which is really all I care about. 
> 
> One thing I really appreciate about the Mandalorian is how they handled presenting the Tusken Raiders. Their existence (especially in aNH, but also in the prequels) is that they're described (and treated) as mindless savages, warlike with seemingly no regard for human life. But Mando knows them, and not just as associates, but as friends. He speaks their language, makes an effort to be considerate of their land and customs, and expects those he travels with to do the same. This came up clearly and wonderfully in chapter 9, and based on Luke's interactions with the Sand People in the past, his problems with seeing them in public would be…startling. Unsettling, to say the least. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for all the love for the last chapter; I love hearing from all of you! 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr, @leiainhoth
> 
> xoxo 
> 
> V


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Luke and the child settle in Mos Pelgo, and Luke begins training the child in the ways of the jetii.

Din stood on the threshold of Vanth's house, watching carefully as Grogu and Luke meditated. The child was still, his eyes closed, hands positioned just as had Luke told them to. He looked calm, powerful. In control of… whatever it was this _jetii_ was teaching him.

This silence, was he teaching the child through their thoughts? It seemed strange, but Din didn't interrupt. The child was relaxed and content and seemed to enjoy Luke's company. And anyway, he was used to being passed around by strangers in Din's line of work and had seemingly made his peace with the reality that Din wasn't leaving. He was close by, and the child would never be alone again.

Not if Din had anything to say about it, at the very least.

When they left the cantina, Din had watched the pilot carefully for any signs of aggression. He flipped through his HUD settings, keeping a steady eye on Luke's heart rate lest he try something unexpected.

But he… didn't. The _jetii_ was the picture of detached calm, putting one foot in front of the other as they walked to their quarters. He had expected and dreaded a reaction from him when Vanth brought up the krayt dragon. Luke seemed to be familiar with Tatooine, or at least had knowledge of the area. He spoke freely, without apparently giving much thought to his speech. Din let him speak; he didn't mind it; so long as he wasn't expected to reciprocate, the little _jetii_ could talk all he liked.

And anyway, maybe he had just been shocked. Seeing something unexpectedly could be distressing, and if Luke had had run-ins with the Tuskens before...Din would be foolish to assume his _jetii_ would have a fair opinion of them. But just the same, if the people of Mos Pelgo were free, and had no reason to fear the Tuskens and vice versa, perhaps Tatooine would be a better place. Maybe, it could be a place he could settle.

But it was more than that, now. The _jetii_ had lost his ship too, and his droid. He needed to return and make contact with his family. Fett had warned him about Luke's companions, calling them dangerous, _aruetti._ He wasn't sure if he was, now. He had known the _jetii_ for less than a day, but he trusted him. This strange man with a green _jetii'kad_ and eyes the colour of the sky—Din trusted him more than he'd admit to.

So it was with comfort that Din watched the pair, relaxed in the warm evening air. The wind was blowing softly, and Din watched the wind as it ruffled the baby's hood and mussed Luke's hair. Neither seemed to notice, but Din smiled, nonetheless.

And then, almost as if in slow motion, the child hummed and then began to hover, his little body rising from the ground. Din panicked, moving without a second thought and reached, his fingers stretching desperately, only just grabbing the child by the hem of his red tunic before tugging the baby into his arms.

Grogu blinked his eyes open, and Din breathed a sigh of relief, pulling the child close to him. "You okay?"

The baby gurgled and laughed, looking over his shoulder to where Luke sat. He closed his eyes and extended a hand, raising the _jetii_ from his perch. Luke scrambled, his eyes opening in surprise and shock as he hovered a metre above the sand. Luke's lightsaber slipped off his belt in the struggle, and Din laughed as he watched what his son could do.

"Let him down, _ad'ika_ ,"

The baby released his hand, and Luke caught himself, landing on his feet before dusting off his leggings.

"Good work, Grogu," Luke praised earnestly, looking up at Din for permission before taking a step closer, running a hand over the curve of the baby's ear. "It took me a month to learn how to levitate objects through the force!"

The baby giggled, and Din could feel the warmth and happiness flowing off of his son. "But it's time for you to rest," Luke said, reaching down to retrieve his _jetii'kad_.

"Vanth sent a meal," Din said, leading Luke inside the house. The spread was warm and carefully prepared; a bubbling stew in crockery, a ladle lolling under the lid. Flat, dense bread sat on a platter under a piece of cloth, with vegetables coated in a sticky green sauce. A canteen of water had accompanied the meal, as well as a sweet custard the colour of the sky. 

"Looks good," Luke said, cleaning his hands on his tunic. He looked up at Din for confirmation before sitting, seeming to hesitate when Din remained standing.

"The kid and I will eat in private," Din said, dishing up two plates with a little bit of everything for him and Grogu, carefully pouring water into a glass for the child.

"Oh…uh, of course," Luke said, flushing. Was he embarrassed? Had Din done something to fluster him? "I can eat in my room too if that's easier. It's just me, I don't mind,"

Din hesitated; he hadn't offered in expectation of being refused. It would be more comfortable to eat at a table, and Din had spent his life among strangers eating in private, cramped places. It was nothing to him to be uncomfortable, and the kid wouldn't mind. But Luke, this stranger, looked put off; uneasy. It was…oddly considerate.

"I'll eat in my room," Luke said, dishing up a plate as well. Din watched with a strange feeling in his chest, noticing with a smile as Luke went back for a second serving of custard before leaving in a hurry. "Rest easy, I'll announce myself before I return,"

Din wasn't sure how long he watched the staircase where the _jetii_ had disappeared to, like a womp rat scurrying back to its hole. He wasn't sure what had just transpired but appreciated the gesture, just the same. It wasn't often that strangers were considerate of his creed. 

Din sat down, setting the plate down and settling in to eat. He looked over to the staircase before removing his helm, setting it down carefully on the table.

"Let's clean your hands, little one," Din said softly, taking the child's hands in his own, wiping them on the cloth covering the bread before letting the child eat. Grogu dug in with vigour; whatever Luke had been teaching the child made him ravenous. Din smiled to himself as he ate, grinning as blue custard smeared itself over the baby's chin.

Even here, Din worried for the child's safety. His blaster rested on his hip, and he looked to the doorway where the pulse rifle lay, cocked and loaded. He knew that the empire was still after him, and it was clear that the child's hunters had never ceased their search for him. The fobs would still be active, and Fennec had said the bounty had increased to a frighteningly high fee. The thought of losing him now…it was unbearable. They had fought too hard and lost so much, and Din could hardly let the child out of his sight; sometimes it hurt to let him out of his arms. Logically, he knew the child was safe. The dunes were level around Mos Pelgo, and with his HUD, he would see an incoming threat from kilometres away. But it grated on him, an itch he would never be able to rid himself of. No matter what he did, or how far he ran or how careful he was, the child would remain in danger so long the Moff was alive. He was sure now that it was he who had commissioned the bounty on the child, with his death, the fobs would become inactive.

At least, that was the standard practice. More than once, Din had heard the transmitter lose its signal on a hunt and was forced to return without his bounty. But was it different with a Moff? Would there be precautions in place to track the quarry once the commissioner had died? Din didn't know, and he wasn't willing to leave it be. The Moff, the _Empire,_ all of it. They threatened the child, and Din would do whatever it took to keep the baby safe.

If Luke knew, he didn't show it. If he had been in the rebellion, Din was sure that he would be sympathetic towards the child's cause. And as a _jetii,_ he had powers enough to protect the child if it came to it. Din wondered if it was his sorcery that made him this way, but there was something different about him; about Luke and how he treated Grogu. Many treated the child as just that, a child, someone who was helpless and required care. But it was more than that; the child was older than Din was; he had knowledge and skills that Din couldn't begin to understand. Luke treated the child like an equal, someone worthy of intelligent conversation and kindness. Din was satisfied that he finally found someone who understood his son. Someone who genuinely cared for him, someone who wanted to teach him the way of the _jetii_.

Din turned his head back to his meal. He never thought he'd come back here. The day he had left Tatooine with his passenger in tow, he thought he had seen the last of this dustbowl. Mos Pelgo was isolated, desolate, a small town the same as any other in the galaxy. When Fennec had told him Fett's intended destination in the belly of _Slave I_ , Din hadn't hesitated. Mos Pelgo wasn't much, but it was as good as any other planet, and he was confident that the Marshal would take him and the child in. What a _beroya,_ and furthermore a _vod_ like Fett was doing on Tatooine was a mystery to him. Maybe he called these dunes and sand home.

Before they had left, Fett had left Din his personal comm code (for the very next time his comm was functional, Din thought with a snort. His helmet comm had fizzled out months ago). Until they made the journey to Mos Eisley, Din was stuck in this tiny town in Tatooine.

That wasn't to say that Din was _uncomfortable_ with the idea of being stuck in Mos Pelgo; quite the opposite. He was relieved for a respite and happy for a couple days of rest with the kid. He was glad to help Vanth, thankful for the idea of acting intimidating without (with any luck) having to do any real intimidation. The Tuskens in town would help with that; most occupants of Tatooine were frightened of them.

Din ripped off a piece of bread and mopped the gravy off his plate with it, taking the last few bites before sitting back, satisfied. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten so well. The baby was full too, Din had indulged the child in more custard than what was good for him and cleaned the corners of his mouth with a gentle hand.

He re-donned his helm and stood, taking the plates to the sonic dishwasher, loading the small machine with his and Grogu's dishes. Din packed the remainder of the meal into the conservator for breakfast the next morning.

A small voice called from below, and Din made a noise of affirmation, letting the pilot know he was helmed and aware of Luke's incoming presence.

Luke walked up the staircase gingerly, almost bashfully. Din turned away, uncomfortable and unsure with this strange behaviour. They might not know each other well, but Luke had done nothing other than be considerate and kind the whole time Din had known him.

"It was delicious," Luke said, sidestepping Din and placing his plate and cutlery into the machine himself, entering the code for a cycle before walking towards the child. He hesitated before reaching for the baby, looking for confirmation from Din. When he nodded, Luke took a step forward, smiling at the baby. Grogu looked tired, it had been a long day, but still pulled a smile and shriek of delight for his teacher, one claw still curiously coated in custard.

"Yeah?" Luke said, squatting down to the child's height. "Your dad let you do _what?"_

"What's he telling you?" Din asked, curious.

"Oh, nothing," Luke said, cracking a half-smile at Din before turning back towards the child. "Oh, very pretty," he said, watching with wonder as the child moved about in his chair. Din took a step forward, worried the child would fall, but the child settled, looking up at Luke with a grin.

Luke sat up, taking the baby in his arms with ease. "Grogu was telling me about his new tunic. He says you made it for him, and he wanted to tell you that he likes it very much,"

"Oh," Din said, suddenly speechless. He wasn't an artisan, and his skills in making clothing were rudimentary at best. But Din liked seeing the baby in something he had made; it stirred a strange sense of pride in his heart. The baby liked something he made for him.

Luke handed Din the child, smiling as the baby settled against Din's shoulder. "You're so good with him,"

"Thank you," Din said, rocking the child as he relaxed into his arms.

"I'll have to thank the Marshal in the morning," Luke said with a yawn, looking up at Din with a soft smile. "He's a good cook. But I'm exhausted. See you in the morning?"

Din nodded in affirmation and tried not to watch as that strange man descended the staircase.

The house that Vanth had given them was sufficient; comfortable. Small and safe with two bedrooms and a minuscule 'fresher in the basement. Luke had taken the smaller bedroom on what Din had initially believed to be impulse, entering the room with a small smile tossed Din's way before the door shut when they first arrived. It was strange but good, _nice_ to have his needs considered before Luke considered his own. It had been...years, maybe, since he had felt this comfortable somewhere other than the _Crest._

Din descended the staircase himself and led the child into the opposite bedroom, placing the child gently on the bed before removing his armour. The baby was still, his eyes blinking open and shut as he fought sleep. It had been a long day by ordinary standards; a battle with the empire around the seeing stone, losing his ship, almost losing the kid. And he had carried the unconscious _jetii_ to Fett's ship, running on the uneven ground and leaping over rocks. His body ached, the muscles tense and tight in his back and arms. He loosened his bandolier and removed it, replacing the cartridges from his belt before hanging it over the bedpost. He sat with a groan, kicking off one boot and then the other, uncaring of where they landed. He had already changed the child into his new red jumper, and the baby seemed pleased with his new clothes. Din ran a hand over the child's head, relieved beyond words that the baby was still his.

"Time to sleep, Grogu," Din said softly, pulling the sheets over the baby.

The baby mewled, unwilling to close his eyes. Din knew that it was different now, but the child didn't. Did the baby think that Din was going to leave if he closed his eyes?

" _Buir_ needs to remove his armour," Din whispered, holding the little hand in his own. " _Buir_ isn't leaving. I'm right here, _ad'ika,"_

A rush of warmth and affection flowed through Din's mind, and he smiled, welcoming the child's presence in his head. The presence, _Grogu's_ presence, wasn't demanding or coarse. Unlike the night before, when the child had known that Din was leaving him behind, his presence was soft and warm. His son being overwhelmingly relieved that Din was safe and nearby.

Din closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his mind calming as he settled. He wished he could prove to the child that he wasn't going to abandon him, that he would never leave, that even though Luke was here, Din wasn't going to disappear. He wished he could tell the baby how much he loved him, how much the baby meant to him, how relieved _Din_ was that the _jetii_ hadn't whisked the child away. The baby gurgled and brought Din's hand close to the his little belly, and Din's heart _melted._

_safe_

"Yeah, pal," Din said thickly, removing his helmet and setting it beside the child. He pulled the child close to him, tucking his little head into his shoulder, sniffing as tears blurred his vision. "Yeah, we're going to be safe here,"

Din was hesitant to let the child out of his arms, worried that the baby would take his movement as a sign that he was leaving. Even so, he moved carefully, lowering the child onto the sheets with a watery smile, watching the child all the while.

" _Buir_ is going to wash. Stay here, _ad'ika,"_

The child grinned, settling into the blankets with a noise of contentment. Din leant down and kissed the child's forehead before reaching for helm and leaving the room.

The 'fresher was small but well-stocked. Soap and various grooming supplies, as well as a small medkit lined the shelf above the sink. Linens and spare underthings were in a basket, and Din sighed in relief, glad he wasn't going to have to sleep in soiled underthings.

Din washed his face quickly, uneasy with the idea of being helmless, even though he surmised Luke to already be asleep. He ran a hand over his curls, grinning at the sight. The baby liked his hair, tangling his fingers in it when they moved together throughout the ship. It was getting longer, and his moustache had filled in, some There weren't many personal vanities Din took with his appearance; the kid didn't seem to care, and he was the only one Din had allowed seeing him helmless.

He stripped himself of his armour methodically, removing the pauldrons, cuirass and cape with one smooth motion, piling the _beskar'gam_ in a pile beside the door. He wished he had something of his own to change into, _Hoth; he'd_ give anything to have his ship back. He didn't have much, but the _Crest_ held what little he had in the way of personal effects. A clean tunic and his cot in the corner was all he wanted. _But I still had the child,_ Din thought with a sad smile. _And he has the things he needs. I have my honour and my pride; the creed is upheld and maintained._ It could be worse. It could be _a lot_ worse.

He pulled off his socks and stepped out of his underthings, activating the sonic shower and stepping inside. The cycle started immediately, and Din sighed as sonic waves rolled over his body, removing the sweat and dust from his skin. He didn't mind sonics; they were functional and reliable, even the _Crest_ had one that worked consistently. It was a luxury to use water for bathing, and despite the relative stability of Mos Pelgo, water was a precious resource. It was sinful to waste it.

Din raised his arms to let the waves flow between his hair as the sonic completed its cycle. He stepped out and closed the unit's door softly, feeding his _kute_ and underthings into the sonic cleaner beside the shower unit without a second thought. He activated the machine for a long sanitizing cycle and popped a toothpaste tab under his tongue, dressing quickly and taking his armour in hand before leaving the room.

The baby was asleep by the time Din slipped into the bedroom, his little hands clutching the sheets, mouth open as he snored. Din shut the door quietly and tucked his armour onto the chair in the corner, and rummaged through the child's things, retrieving his cape and socks, as well as his bantha toy. He picked the child up softly and dressed him in warmer clothing, placing one sock on his clawed foot and then the other, before wrapping him in the blue blanket from Sorgan and tucking the baby close to Din's chest.

Din sat down slowly, rocking the child in his arms as he settled on the bed. It was comfortable, the sheets dry and warm. The baby tucked himself into Din's chest, and Din pulled the sheets over them both, enveloping the baby in warmth until they both fell asleep.

…

The morning dawned early, and Din awoke suddenly to the shock of silence. The sickening realization of his current whereabouts settled like a weight on Din's heart; the _Crest_ had been destroyed. The sound of the _Crest's_ ion engines misfiring and reigniting were comforting and familiar; it had been so long since he had slept in silence. Even on Maldo Kreis, the sounds of shifting ice and snow had lulled him to sleep.

Mindful of the child, Din sat up, smiling despite himself as the baby blinked his eyes open. The child's lips smacked comically, and Din chuckled, pulling Grogu's hood off. It might be early, but the heat of the day was coming, and the child was warm enough as it was.

"Good morning, Grogu," Din said, leaning down to kiss the child's forehead. The baby gurgled and smiled, his hands reaching for Din's nose as he pressed his forehead into Grogu's. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh?"

"Breakfast?"

Grogu nodded, his little head bobbing comically, and Din grinned."Let's get ready then,"

Din pulled the child's clothes out of the cloth bag and settled the contents on the bed. It was lucky that Din had brought it; he was glad the child could be in comfort even if he couldn't. He pulled out a thin tunic that would cover the child's body from the sun and began to remove the many layers he had dressed the child in for bed. The child smiled and gurgled from below him, and Din couldn't remember ever feeling this content.

For the first time in a long time, the child was safe. He would be protected; Luke could stand by his side in battle if it came to it. They had somewhere to stay and food aplenty. Din and the baby could be happy here.

"Here's your toys," Din said, laying out the bantha as well as the fish from Sorgan and his dursteel knob.

" _Buir_ ," the baby burbled, and Din's heart nearly burst with love. And then, wordlessly, the words echoing and bouncing about in Din's head. _Love you._

"Yes, Grogu," he said, kneeling and brushing his forehead against the child's. "I love you too,"

The baby smiled, shifting to sit up. He considered his toys carefully, unsure of the favourite for the day. Din let him peruse his options, one hand on the doorframe before he donned his helm and left the room.

Din opened the door to the 'fresher, surprised to see his underthings and _kute_ clean and folded beside the sink, the cycle having been restarted. _Luke must've needed it_ , Din thought with a sniff of discomfort. It was strange enough to be occupying the same living quarters with a stranger, but to have him fold his underthings? It felt like a violation.

A razor also sat on the edge of the sink, and Din's curiosity peaked. Luke _looked_ young; his stature and easy-going nature made it easy to forget that he was a pilot and a Jedi. A grown man, who apparently needed to shave despite the distinct lack of scruff on his face the day before. Whoever he was, and wherever he had come from before rescuing them on Tython, he was a mystery. A _jetii,_ the child's teacher. But to Din, Luke was still a stranger. He was the _jetii_ who had saved his child's life. His contradictions lined up one after the other; he was the man who fancied custard and snored in his sleep, the one who was curiously kind and gentle with Grogu.

Din wasn't sure what he thought of him, but his presence flowed over Din like warmed honey. It was comfortable to be with him, this strangerwho had left his life on a whim to teach a baby.

Din sighed as he pulled on his underthings, trying to think of Luke's invasive favour as a kindness. It wasn't difficult; he _was_ kind. But it was still uncomfortable knowing that this stranger had handled his linens, and Din tried to bypass his discomfort by dressing quickly, popping a toothpaste tab into his mouth before lowering his helm and leaving the room.

The child clutched his fish toy as Din re-entered, and Din grinned at the baby as he re-donned his armour.

This was a strange practice of comfort, one Din was unused to; a bed and food to eat was more than plenty for his needs. But it was good for the child to have somewhere steady; Grogu deserved to stay still for a while. With any luck, the Empire wouldn't find them here.

And anyway, it wasn't as if Din could leave even if he wanted to. Vanth had been clear; no one goes on their own. Not while the syndicate was in disarray, and especially not at night.

Din sighed; he wished, not for the first time, that he still had the _Crest._ If he did, he could take the child and Luke and… what? Where would he go? He had no home to return to. No clan, no covert. He had no way of contacting them without the _Crest; even_ if they had settled somewhere else, Din wouldn't be able to know. He could put out some feelers when they reached Mos Eisley, Din thought with a sigh. And that was with the thought that Luke would _want_ to come with him, should he have the ability to leave. Din had never met a real rebellion pilot before; his dealings with the New Republic had made him jaded to their kind. He couldn't afford to give himself up to them; what would become of the child if he did? Luke didn't strike Din as one who would try and steal Grogu, or someone who would make off in the night with Din's valuables. He was…warm. Din wasn't able to feel other's emotions other than the baby's, and that was only when the child made the connection first. But there was something about him…something Din couldn't put his finger on. He was young, _painfully_ young, but proficient and skilled as a warrior. It had been only hours since Din had met him, but he trusted him. Much in the same way he had trusted Omera, and Peli and Cara and Cobb Vanth. Something about them felt safe; he hadn't hesitated to put himself in harm's way with the knowledge that they would take care of the child if he was gone.

Luke felt the same to him; he was considerate and kind to the child. He had responded to this situation with a surprising amount of guile, a sort of resigned temperament that Din could understand.

For so long, his mission had been clear, find the _jetii_ and deliver the child to them. Din had rarely thought beyond that moment; it was too painful. He didn't want to consider what life would be like once the child was gone. Who _Din_ would be once the baby was no longer his.

But somehow, he had done the impossible. He had found the _jetii_ and kept the child by his side. The Jedi, Luke, he had allowed Din to stay. He had let Din remain a part of the baby's life.

There was so much that Din didn't understand, so much about the _jetii_ he had never considered before. He had been told that they were child-snatchers, kidnappers. They took children from their _buire,_ from their _aliit_ and delivered them to _aruetti_ . Never to be seen again. He had been warned as an _ad_ to not leave the covert, to stay where it was safe lest the _jetii_ find him and take him away. It seemed ironic, now, that Din had not only left his covert and his clan behind but delivered his own child to the _jetii_ in direct rebuttal to everything the _alor_ had ever taught him. If they ever to see one another again, Din wished he could tell her a different tale; a happier one, a story of a father and son bound together forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unhelpfully, the information available on Star Wars laundry services is nil. However, through surmising how sonic showers work (and learning how to wash clothes with sand????) I made up a sonic washing machine. How it works, I really couldn't tell you. Something about tiny particles of soap and a longer sonic cycle? I couldn't stop cringing at the idea of showering and then putting dirty, bloody, and sweaty underthings on after. That's gross, and Din deserves to be comfy.   
> Here's a Reddit thread I vaguely based my findings on: feel free to peruse at your leisure :) https://boards.theforce.net/threads/cleaning-clothes-in-star-wars.50046743/  
> Thank you so much for all the love with this story! I'm blown away by all of your lovely responses!!!!! I've never had such a positive and overwhelmingly kind tidal wave of comments and kudos and subscriptions in my life. It's such a blessing; you lot are the best :)   
> Come say hi on Tumblr!!! @leiainhoth   
> xoxo  
> V


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Din wake up on their first day in Mos Pelgo, but a disturbing vision forces the Marshal to make a decision.

Luke woke with a start, his heart racing. The blankets were twisted about the bed, and he was startled, lost and confused. Where was he?

He fell back against the headboard with his head in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. The room he was in was strange to him, but as he blinked and settled, it came back to him in a wave. He was on Tatooine; his ship was still on Tython. _Maker,_ he was stuck here. Stuck without a comm, without any way out.

They had two more days until the caravan left for Mos Eisley. This wasn't a sticky or even unpleasant situation to find himself in, comparatively, but _still._ It was Tatooine; he thought he'd never come back here again.

He knew that they wouldn't be for long; with any luck, he and the Mandalorian would be able to hire a transport of some kind when they returned to civilization and then they'd leave this dustbowl for good.

Luke flushed suddenly, strangely, as his mind unhelpfully provided a possessive pronoun as he considered his companion. The Mandalorian was good company; after so long being recognized in the rebel alliance, being anonymous on his homeworld was… strangely welcome. Whatever the Mandalorian had done _other_ than killing a krayt dragon to gain the respect of these people was unknown to him. Luke had surmised that the curious and unprecedented treaty between Mos Pelgo and the Sand People had been negotiated by both the Marshal and Mando. But it rested steadily, on firm ground. The day before, Luke had watched the town carefully, using both the force and his intuition to ascertain the mood of Mos Pelgo. He wasn't surprised exactly to find it perfectly amicable, friendly, even. Luke had never seen the massiffs of the Sand People, but they were in town, sniffing at the feet of their masters as they moved through the street. Children petted their reptilian hides, and Luke watched carefully, nonetheless, aware of his personal experiences with the Sand People clouding his judgement. He had no qualms with them, not really. But he had been raised to see their kind as an enemy, and it was hard to move past his instinctual fear of the unknown to accept them as they were.

The light from the slit beneath his door was dark; it must be very early. Luke had risen with the sunrise and slipped out the door to meditate before his companions woke.

The horizon was indigo and azure, and the world was still. Luke was barefoot, and he walked slowly, mindful of the cool stone and sand, the sound his heels made as they struck the earth. It was early enough that even the miners of Mos Pelgo remained in their beds, and Luke took a deep breath, trying to stay mindful and calm in the early morning hour.

Luke often meditated in the morning; even when he was living on Chandrila, he had risen with the sun, often losing track of time as he calmed his thoughts for the day ahead. There was much to consider, so many paths that he could take. The universe was open to him, now. So far as he knew, he was the last and indeed the _only_ Jedi master left in the galaxy. What others had done in the past, their mistakes and triumphs were his alone to bear. Luke was their legacy; whatever it was to be a Jedi would be told through his eyes.

Much of his time was spent looking for Jedi artifacts, scouring what little remained in the Coruscant archives, hunting rumour after rumour at the promise of surviving force-sensitives across the galaxy. What did it mean to be a Jedi? How did one come to be a master? How could Luke remain faithful to the Jedi legacy while addressing the bigotry and close-mindedness of the past? Luke often conferred with Obi-Wan and Yoda's force ghosts, usually in the late evening or early morning. Their advice grew stale with time, both flush with warmth of the Jedi order's greatness when they were young. They warned Luke to not fall prey to his feelings, lest they lead him into the darkness.

As he grew older, Luke found it harder and harder to justify absolutes. There could be no absolute darkness, no absolute light. There were always cracks in the glass, slivers of joy and peace and contentment, even if one's heart had soured with the ways of the world. Could a Jedi truly have no attachments? Possessiveness, Luke could understand. A lover or a friend is not an object one can covet exclusively, hold in the air against one's will. Love is reciprocated, love is open hands; love is the realization that another's happiness is equal to your own. Love was not love when it was exclusive.

Love is what Luke saw when he thought of the child and his father.

Luke couldn't claim to know or understand what his companion thought or felt. He was stoic and silent, speaking only when necessary, and then most often to his child. But love flowed out of him like a flood, bursting forth without thought or restraint. He loved the child desperately, with a heartwarming affection that stemmed from loss. Luke knew better than to press; whatever he had witnessed on Tython was a desperate thing. His companion had been of the heart and mind that he would lose the child forever if Luke took him. It had shocked and deeply disturbed him. What had happened to make the Mandalorian think that Luke, a perfect stranger, would take a child away? It was devastating, and that was before Luke knew the child. Grogu's love for his father was profound, deeper perhaps than any love Luke had ever known.

Grogu loved unconditionally, desperately; his whole soul was wrapped around that of his father. And it was _reciprocated._ Din protected the child, and the child loved him; they were tied in the force; together. Even if he was able to, even if Luke _wanted_ to, he'd never be able to breach it. What the Mandalorian and his child had, Din had never seen anything like it. They were family together or parted. Bound together in ways Luke could never understand. He had had his aunt and uncle, and later Leia and Han. But a mother, a father; Luke would never have what the child did. He might be a Jedi Master, a general, a _grown man_ , but a part of him would always be an orphan on Tatooine, unsure of who he could be. Unaware that great things were awaiting him. But Grogu didn't need greatness; he already possessed it. The child's strength in the force was extraordinary; he would be a Jedi knight if he wanted to be. And he was so pure, so young, his force signature was _bright_ , dancing on the edge of his consciousness like the light of the setting suns. Luke wanted to train him, wanted to see how they could learn from one another. Grogu had told Luke about his time in the Jedi temple on Coruscant, about the masters and padawans before Order 66. That part of the child's consciousness was clouded, murky. It was clear to Luke that the child had been forced to hide his abilities; even now, he restrained himself. Meditating made it easier for Luke to feel the child and understand his past to progress into the future.

And his father, holy _Hoth,_ Luke didn't know _what_ to think of Grogu's _buir._ He was intimidating, tall, bound in impenetrable armour. He rarely spoke, but the child had told Luke about him through their force bond, telling Luke about their ship, their time in the market, the frogs he had eaten playing with his friend Winta by the ponds. He told Luke about his bantha toy, his fish and the durasteel knob his _buir_ had given him. Luke remembered the joy in the child's eyes the night before when Grogu showed Luke his new tunic. It was made of red fabric, and even though Grogu hadn't fully understood what _ad_ meant (which was fair, considering Luke hadn't either), he understood the significance. This _meant_ something to his _buir,_ and Grogu was honoured to have been trusted with it. The tunic was carefully sewn, its seams even and straight, and Luke thanked the child both verbally and mentally for telling him. Luke had begun constructing the first tenuous threads of their force-bond, connecting Grogu to him in the way that Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught him all those years ago. As he meditated on it, Luke couldn't help the feeling something already established was a bond that he couldn't explain. It felt… _strong_ , reciprocated. The Mandalorian had told him that he wasn't force-sensitive, but Luke was starting to think that it wasn't true. There was a thread connecting father and son, a force bond that couldn't exist without communication coming from both sides.

Maybe the Mandalorian didn't know; it was possible. Some force-sensitive beings had hidden their abilities, or more often still, had no way of comprehending that which they had. Luke suspected that Grogu's father fell into the latter category. It was strange, but not unheard of, for Mandalorians to have the abilities of the Jedi.

Luke wondered if his companion knew.

 _But he had to,_ Luke reasoned with himself. _He was smart enough to have realized that something strange was happening._

There was something extraordinary in their bond between the boy and his father. Grogu was delighted, and Luke smiled, thinking about how much joy and happiness the child exuded when his father was nearby.

Luke took a deep breath and sat cross-legged in the sand beside the house. Jedi meditated for any number of reasons, but as Luke closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, he could _feel_ it. The force sang to him, whispered about him like an early morning breeze. It tangled itself in the sand below his body, in the wispy clouds far above him. The force dipped and swirled across every grain of sand, every house, every _person._ Luke let his hands fall to his knees and just breathed, becoming one with all that was around him.

The early morning air was cool but warming with each passing second. Luke took a breath and imagined all his thoughts lining up in a row and dismissed them one by one. His missing X-wing, his lost droid. The worries of his sister and friends on Chandrila and his inability to contact them. He took another breath and continued down the list. Jedi do not covet; Jedi do not possess. Thoughts are vapour and memory, and Jedi are above them. Jedi are above the common and unbroken; Jedi are the peacekeepers of the galaxy. But what it meant to be a Jedi was up to him, now.

This path was his to take alone.

He thought of Boba Fett, the bounty hunter Han had tossed into the sarlaac pit by accident all those years ago. He thought of his ship, the strange gyroscopic interior, the worry of the Mandalorian hanging thick in the air. He thought of the rocks and the sand, the air and the binary suns of Tatooine, and slowly, he let them go. Feeling them fade to mist and vapour and float into the air.

Luke felt warmth on his eyelids and blinked his weary eyes open. The suns were rising, the lesser first, but the latter was rosy on the sandy horizon. It had been months since Luke had allowed himself the luxury of watching the suns rise. There was something peaceful in their inevitability; time never stopped, it never stood still. Until the suns burst into supernovas and faded from the sky, they would rise, peak and set. Not even the Jedi could prevent the inevitable.

Luke heard a disturbance behind him and lowered himself back to the ground, feeling his feet dip into the warming sand as he landed. The Mandalorian must be up, Luke thought with a small smile. The child must be wanting breakfast.

The eager and soft force imprint of the child danced around the doorway, and Luke grinned fully at the sight of the child cooing in his father's arms. The Mandalorian held the baby securely, not surprised to see Luke as he entered the house.

"Good morning," Luke said pleasantly, walking over to the caf machine. The Mandalorian acknowledged him and nodded, holding the baby close. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," the Mandalorian said, walking over to the conservator. Luke never had been one for idle chatter; words lost their meaning when used in excess. He appreciated the direct nature of his companion, even if the silence could be confusing at times.

Luke punched in the code for a singular cup of caf before turning to his companion, gesturing to the rumbling machine. "Would you care for a cup?"

"No, thank you," the Mandalorian said stiffly, retrieving the bowls of stew and vegetables and feeding them into the heating element.

Luke nodded, not exactly perturbed, but dancing on a knife-edge of curiosity. He tried to tune out the child's repetitious calls for sweets, one he wasn't sure his companion had noticed if his stiff posture was anything to go by. Luke hesitated in calming the child with their fledgling force bond, mindful of how invasive an unexpected presence could be. The child cooed and babbled to himself, his thoughts fluttering quickly from one to another. The pendant Luke had noticed the day before was around the child's neck, the cord taut on the back of his tunic as he gummed on the Mythosaur's tusks. He was so small, so innocent. So deserving of attentive care, so worthy of a father who loved him. Grogu caught his father's gaze, and his force signature was sunshine, bright golden beams that illuminated the world around him. Luke let himself be swept away in the flood of warmth the child offered his father, unsure if the man could feel it, wondering fretfully if his companion could sense how much the child loved him.

"Here," the Mandalorian said softly, placing a plate of warmed leftovers in front of Luke. He turned to look at his companion, a smile dancing on the edge of his lips. "Eat, I need to speak to Vanth,"

"Vanth?" Luke inquired, watching the baby cuddle closer to his father.

"Yes," the Mandalorian said. "The Marshal. Can you take the little one?"

"Yes," Luke said, reaching up for the baby, smiling as the child relaxed into Luke's arms.

The Mandalorian ran a hand over the child's head and left without a word. Luke adjusted the child in his arms, looking down at the meal the Mandalorian had prepared for him. It was the same meal as the day before, but Luke was touched, just the same. A bowl full to the brim of bantha milk custard sat beside his plate, and Luke raised a spoon with a surge of happiness. It had been years since he'd had it; certainly, there were better things to eat, and not many in the core worlds enjoyed it. Bantha milk had been a staple of his childhood, a cheap and plentiful thing that had been at every breakfast of his younger years. It was plain but sweet and filling. Luke had struggled to contain his excitement the night prior when he noticed it, and his companion must have noticed. The last scrapings of the bowl were on the table, neatly divided into two bowls.

He took a bite, letting the familiar taste fill him with nostalgia. The baby giggled, one clawed hand dipping into his bowl and lifting it to his mouth.

"Do you like it, Grogu?"

The baby grinned a toothy grin, and Luke felt an influx of images. His father, the plush toy he had cuddled with the night before, a woman in armour he didn't recognize. He felt _joy,_ contentment. Without words, the child had communicated a clear message, whoever Luke was to this family of two, he was becoming a part of it. The child shared his life with Luke, his joy, happiness, and the love he shared with his _buir._

Luke took another bite but dropped the spoon before it reached his mouth, his mind swimming with an abrupt influx of information.

_A man with a blaster and a masked face broke through a door, the sunlight harsh and jarring in the dark space. A woman was below him, also heavily armed, looking down at a pale blue Twi'lek woman, struggling against chains. The woman shot the bracers away and nodded as the Twi'lek fled, her torn manacles rushing against the stoned floor._

_Luke watched, askance, as the man turned his attention to the bulbous Twi'lek on the throne. He heard the man's nervous welcome to the masked figure and watched with horror as he was shot where he sat, pushed away from the throne._

_It wasn't until the man sat that Luke recognized him. The paint was new, but the armour was painfully familiar. Boba Fett had retaken the syndicate on Tatooine._

Luke gasped, pulling himself from the vision with difficulty. His breath came hot and fast, and he scooped up the baby and ran towards the door.

…

He found the Mandalorian speaking to the Marshal outside the cantina. His mind swam, and his feet were unsteady in the thick sand. When his companion noticed Luke's distress, he ran to him.

"Is the baby okay?" the Mandalorian said, taking hold of Luke's shoulders.

"Yes, Mando, _please_ —"

"Why are you frightened?" Mando said, his voice tight and short. "Did someone come to the house?"

"No," Luke said, feeling the panic swell in his belly. The baby clung to him, his force signature frightened and still. "I had—had a vision. Boba Fett—"

"Let's take this inside," the Marshal said, his voice uneasy. Luke felt the pressure on his arms ease as the Mandalorian led them into the cantina.

It was early, and the room had vacated with breakfast. Luke felt himself being led to a chair and sat.

"A vision, you say?" the Marshal said, his eyes wide and searching into Luke's. "Have you had one of 'em before?"

"Yes," Luke said, closing his eyes and trying to forget the wide-eyed panic of the Twi'lek on the throne before Fett shot him. Unsuccessfully, the echo of the blaster shot made him flinch.

"What about Fett?" the Mandalorian said, sitting across from Luke.

"He's—he's retaken the syndicate on Tatooine,"

"I thought the Hutts—"

"Dead," Vanth said, turning to face the Mandalorian. "Five standard hence. There was a squirmish outside the palace," the Marshal shuffled his feet and sighed. "Or so they say."

His companion grunted before turning his attention back to Luke. "Why are you afraid?"

"I don't know," Luke said, his eyes searching into the Mandalorians. He couldn't explain it; ever since Fett had rescued them the day before, his presence had grated on Luke like salt on a wound. He was a bounty hunter, an Empire sympathizer. He had been killed; he was _dead._ Or should have been dead, Luke thought with a pain. His reappearance on Tatooine was an ill omen, and Luke was worried about what Fett had planned. Luke wondered if the Mandalorian knew who Boba Fett really was. Or cared, his relationship with Fett seemed... perfunctory, surface level.

"Fett is a Mandalorian," his companion said entreatingly. "He fought by my side in battle; he vowed to protect the child. Luke, he rescued the child. Rescued _you,"_

Luke stuttered, scrambling for an answer. He couldn't explain it, couldn't put his finger on it. But it was wrong; all of it was wrong. He wished he had a better explanation, but he was too flustered to think.

"Breathe," Vanth said, his hand on Luke's forearm. "Calm down, now. That's it. Just breathe,"

Luke filtered away his anxious thoughts and listened as Vanth led him through a series of slow breaths. Luke tried to ground himself, to feel, to listen, to hear. It was all so overwhelming. The Mandalorian reached across Luke's lap for the child, and suddenly as if by instinct, took hold of Luke's hand and held it tightly.

The leather of his glove was soft, yielding under Luke's palm. His hand was warm, Luke thought with a stuttered breath. Warm and gentle. It helped ground him back to the present, and Luke squeezed the other man's hand in gratitude.

"If this news is true, we need to move quickly," Vanth said, and Luke looked up in confusion. "The Marshals of Mos Eisley and Mos Espa need to be informed. Gather your things; the caravan is leaving at sundown,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!!! I'm so glad to hear your guys' thoughts on this work, it warms my heart to read such encouraging words!!!!! I continue to be blown away by all of this support!  
> Come say hi on Tumblr! @leiainhoth  
> xoxo  
> V


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Luke, Cobb and the rest of the caravan begin their journey to Mos Espa

The suns had set hours ago, and Din leant into the sways and dips of his bantha as they traversed the desert. It was late, and the sky was darkening, the deep blues and purples fading into a deeper blue Din hadn't a name for. The stars were blinding, hanging in clusters and constellations, so many of them Din had no need for light. The moons hung deep on the southern horizon, and Din turned his head as the light reflected on his companions, fixing his gaze on Luke as his golden hair glowed silver in the moonlight. Din quirked a smile, watching as Luke talked animately to Scoeeri Plebb, the woman whose bantha he had been following for the past few hours. The child was asleep, lulled by the constant movement and the lack of interesting things to eat. Din smiled, it was going to be a long journey, and the child would need his rest.

He pulled a strip of jerky out of his belt and lifted his helmet to take a bite. He hadn't hesitated to take the rear of the caravan when they set out, letting Vanth and a Tusken by the name of A'Vor lead. He had taught Vanth the basics of the Tusken language that afternoon and told A'Vor that he could translate if need be. They seemed to get along well; the caravan had been moving in a steady north/northwest path for two hours, en route to Mos Espa. If all went well, they'd arrive in ten days' time.

Din was tired for other reasons, ones he wasn't able to put into words. He had taken Luke's hand in a moment of weakness; in the cantina when he thought he would lose Luke to this panic, he held him. Din wished he could offer more, come closer, bring Luke into his arms and rub his back the way he did for the child when he was afraid. It would be too much, too much too fast, and what if Luke refused? The jarring split would be worse than the pain of seeing Luke that way.

He had led, _taken_ Luke back to the house after he calmed down some. He hadn't let go of Luke's hand, but the _jetii_ didn't seem to mind. The baby settled against Din's chest, and with both hands occupied, he let Luke open the door and shut it carefully, letting the kid crawl out of his arms.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked again, and Luke shut his eyes, his body tense and still. Din wanted so badly to pull the man close to him, to feel his smaller body close to his own. He wanted to pat down that fluffy hair that never quite lay flat, to rub his thumbs up and down his arms like his mother had when Din was frightened. He wanted this and more but balked, not for reasons of his own. He wanted Luke to feel comfortable with him, _safe_ with him. He couldn't have that if Din let his feelings get in the way.

Whoever Luke imagined Fett to be, whatever history they had together, it didn't make sense. Fett had called Luke an _aruetti,_ an outsider, foreigner. Someone dangerous, someone with ill intentions. But Din didn't see that in Luke. The man was golden, bright as the sun. He was untainted, unbroken, his spirit filled to the brim with joy and contentment. Din wanted that, wanted _him—_ this strange man in his life, this _jetii_ he had known for less than a day. Something different, something off, something _about_ him that drew Din in like a moth to a flame. Luke was a mystery, a man with incredible gifts, a _jetii_ who had left his family and his home for the cries of a child on the planet below. The man who had stayed, certainly longer than Din expected him to, to train the baby in the ways of his people. It was a debt Din could never repay. It meant more to him than he had words to explain. 

But it wasn't just a debt, now. The man was the first rays of dawn, the feeling of dew in the sand. He was bright, the burning light of the sun, and Din couldn't help but be drawn to his light, to orbit around his brightness, unwilling to admit he was being turned. He had made breakfast for the man with only a twinge of guilt, heating the leftover meal Cobb Vanth had prepared for them with careful attention. He thought back to how Luke fancied the blue custard, and abandoning his own need for sustenance (surely he'd eat later), he dished out equal portions for Luke and Grogu, wanting desperately to feel useful. If he wasn't, if he was brash and uncaring, Luke would leave. He couldn't bear even the thought of it. The memory of his _jetii_ after the battle on Tython stirred panic into his heart. The head wound was serious, much more severe than he was willing to admit to himself at the time. Bacta could only do so much; the rest would come with time. But the blood, there was so _much_ of it, pooling and collecting in the creases of the man's nose, in his lips, dripping down his neck. It was on Din, too, and both blood and guilt dipped and flowed over his consciousness as he sat vigil over this stranger he didn't even know the name of. And why? 

He had saved the child, of course, he had. Din and Fennec wouldn't have been able to on their own. The child would've died had Luke not interfered. But it was more than that, something Din couldn't admit to on pain of death, knowing, of course, that death might've been kinder. Din had held his _jetii_ at arm's length, watching carefully, observing him always. Noticing when he sat and when he stood, what he ate, how he looked for permission before touching his son. Din appreciated it; the care and attention Luke showed for his child stirred something in his heart he thought had long ago calcified. Something close and desperate and warm, something Din had only ever felt with his parents and, more recently, with his son. Something eerily reminiscent of—of—

 _No,_ he told himself later that day, pounding his fist into the table in frustration. _No, it's off the table. Forbidden. To love is to be known; this vessel is not mine to bear._

And more presently, the child needed him. Or so the excuse to himself went.

So instead, he watched, smiling as Luke did, observing as he swayed back and forth on his bantha. Din turned about, as he did every few minutes, his hand on his pulse rifle, taking care to protect those around him. But the desert was quiet, the sand still over the dunes, the stars hanging heavy in the sky. 

The saddle beneath Din dug uncomfortably into his _shebs,_ and he wondered when Cobb was going to stop and make camp for the night. Din understood the Marshal's desire to leave as soon as they were able, but Din's nerves prickled as he watched the empty desert. Any number of dangers could be hiding in caves, ducked behind the dunes. The light was dim, but the stars and the moons, as well as the infrared setting on his HUD made it easy to see danger as they presented themselves. _If_ they presented themselves. 

Din rode in silence for some time, his eyes finding Luke as he laughed at something his companion said, his voice light and airy. _Did Jedi need to sleep?_ Din thought with amusement, something warm prickling in Din's chest as Luke leant forward and rested a hand on his bantha's side, speaking quietly to the animal. 

Din forced his eyes onto the desert, his ears listening carefully to his companions. But he couldn't focus; Din only caught some of Luke and Scoeeri's words to one another and less of what Luke said to his bantha. 

"What are you doing?" Scoeeri asked softly, and Din's head shot up, watching Luke carefully as he laughed, patting the shoulder of his bantha with what Din could only describe as affection. 

"I'm speaking to him," Luke said. 

Huh. 

Din looked down at the child. "Can you do that too, kid?" Grogu didn't respond, looking up at his father with wide eyes, his fingers tangled in bantha fur. Din watched as Grogu gummed at the edge of his blanket. "Guess not," 

Din watched carefully as their caravan continued, smiling to himself as Vanth and A'Vod shared a laugh, nervous though it may be. His other companions, a human and two Tuskens whose names Din hadn't caught spoke rode quietly, one behind the other. Perhaps things could change, even in a backwater desert like Tatooine. 

"We'll stop here for the night," Vanth said with a laugh, and Din sighed in relief, pulling the child out of the saddlebag with a careful hand so he could see, settling the baby in his arms. Before them, the path was a gentle decline, the open maw of a cave protecting a small valley filled with scrub grass. Din watched as the others dismounted, laughing to himself as they walked away from their mounts with a bowlegged stance. Maybe his _shebs_ wouldn't be the only one aching tonight. 

The baby cooed at the sight, suddenly wide awake as Din swung off the back of his bantha, laying a gentle hand on the creature's nose before leading it to the grass to graze. 

"Mando," Vanth said, and Din looked up, watching as the others began to set up camp. Luke came close, suddenly looking so much younger than twenty-eight in the moonlight. He gestured for the child, and Din let the baby spill into Luke's arms without a second thought, walking towards Vanth with a barely contained smile on his lips. 

"Anything to report?" Vanth asked, looking past Din into the desert behind. Vanth had picked a good stop to rest; the cave buttressed an embankment too high to climb, with the mouth of the cave being the only discernable entrance. There were ten of them in total, with eight bantha's and a speeder bike loaded with supplies to guard. It shouldn't be too much trouble. 

"Nothing," Din said, trying to focus on Vanth, but failing, his eyes catching Luke speaking quietly to A'Vod's _riduur,_ a swaddled baby he hadn't noticed held in her arms. Luke ran a hand over the child's head, Grogu peering curiously at the child from Luke's arms. "It's quiet," 

"Yes," Vanth said, clapping a hand on Din's shoulder. "Let's get some grub started, I'm starving," 

Din helped Vanth unload the gear, watching carefully as A'Vod and his companion (Din believed his name to be Cor, but he'd ask later) made a fire, setting a three-legged tripod with a dangling chain over the flames. Scoeeri and her brother Laele were busy over a pot, adding dried pieces of krayt dragon and a prickly vegetable Din couldn't identify with gentle hands. A'Vod gestured for Din, and he stood, following the man as he led him to the mouth of the cave. Instantly, the temperature dropped, their camp conversation fading to silence as they entered the cave. 

That was when they found the water. 

It was plentiful, flowing gently over stones, looking to be both clear and cold. Din smiled to himself, thanking A'Vod for his discernment (for surely he communicated to Vanth the need for water when they picked a place to stop. Water was precious on Tatooine, and Din felt honoured to have been entrusted with the knowledge). 

Din signed thank you to A'Vod, who nodded in recognition, and Din followed as they walked up the rise to retrieve the empty water skins. 

The camp settled into a steady rhythm, with the water from the cave, Scoeeri and Laele set the pot over the flames to cook. The bantha's grazed, and the children played, Luke and Varre watching and speaking quietly to one another. Din helped Vanth and Cor lead the bantha's to water and then unloaded the tents, setting them up for use. 

They ate merrily, Din taking their food and the child away to the edge of the camp under the guise of keeping guard to eat on their own. The child was content to sit on Din's lap, the warm stew disappearing quickly as Grogu ate. Din took the rare opportunity to eat his food without hurrying, revelling in the silence of the desert wind around them. He drained his water skin and put his helmet, gathering the child and their dishes when he stopped short.

Luke was there, standing quietly beneath the ridge, looking happy and calm in the moonlight. His _jetii'kad_ hung on his belt, and Din wasn't sure what to say at his sudden appearance. 

"I was wondering if you'd like some company," Luke said, taking the empty bowls from Din's hands. "Scoeeri and I are almost done the washing up," 

"Oh," Din said, shuffling the baby to his other arm just for something to do, watching as Luke smiled at him and walked back down the ridge. 

"Are you coming?" 

Din grinned, looking down at the child with a leap in his heart, following Luke as he led them back to camp. 

A'Vod and Varre's _ad_ was older than Din initially thought, old enough to walk with help, and Din let Grogu down to play at Varre's direction, turning his attention to Luke and Scoeeri. Luke took Din's dishes and washed them, up to his elbows in soapy water, talking animately to both of them as he passed the dish to Scoeeri to rinse and dry. Din took the bowl as it was offered, looking at the neat pile of bowls and spoons sitting on a towel beside him and stacked the bowl with others. 

Once the washing up was complete, Luke helped Din organize the cooking things into a crate intended for their use and tossed away the dishwater. 

His companions were sitting and laughing around the fire when Luke and Din returned, and Din grinned as Grogu turned from his new friend and ran into Din's arms. Din nodded at Varre and signed his thanks, which Varre returned. Apparently, Grogu was welcome company. 

"There you are," Luke said with a grin, running a finger along the child's ear. Grogu cooed, snuggling close into Din's arms. "Did you have fun with your friend?" 

Din let his mind open as he looked carefully down at his son, feeling the thoughts and contentment of the baby wash over him. He was thrilled to have another child to play with. 

"Yeah?" Luke said, looking down at the baby with affection. "That's good, then," 

"What's he saying?" Din asked, looking up to meet Luke's eye. 

"Oh, nothing," Luke said with a secret smile, looking down at the baby. "Aren't we allowed to have secrets from your _buir,_ Grogu?" 

The baby warbled something incomprehensible and giggled, and Din smiled, rocking the baby back and forth. He didn't mind secrets, not between Luke and the baby. He was glad that the child had someone to talk to, pleased that he could understand the child's basic thoughts and emotions, content that if the baby had something important to tell him, he could do so. 

Din looked over the baby and the fire to where the tents were pitched. He hadn't thought about it when they assembled them in the first place, but there were six; one for the siblings, for the married couple, one for Cor and Vanth and…

Oh. 

The last two tents were close together, nearly touching. Almost as if…almost if...

Din blushed, blushed harder than he'd blushed in a long time. They had assumed, they had thought…and Din had given Vanth no reason _not_ to believe that he and Luke were of one body. He hadn't thought about it; Din didn't give a second thought to what others thought of him. But one could've concluded, could've _assumed_ that he and Luke were…

What? _Together?_

Close enough to sleep side by side? _Riduure?_

Din breathed steadily, forcing himself to stay calm. There were still two tents, still enough space for Din to relax and remove his armour for sleep. But they'd be so _close,_ nothing but thin fabric separating them from one another.

Something in Din's heart leapt at the thought, a thought he hadn't given any power to since he was an _ad_ in Nevarro. His face was his soul, giving someone else the power to see him…see him like _that…_

"Bedtime, I think," Cobb Vanth said from the other side of the fire, startling Din out of his thoughts. "A'Vor here volunteered for the first watch, Laele for the second. The rest of us better get some sleep before morning comes,"

Din retrieved his and the baby's supplies from their saddlebags and walked with unsteady feet towards his tent, very aware of Luke behind them, making similar preparations. But there was nothing else to do, nothing Din could do to delay this moment any further, so he turned, facing Luke with trepidation. But his companion, if he noticed, didn't comment on Din's stiffness, taking a step forward with a smile. 

"Goodnight, Grogu," Luke said softly, gripping the baby's hand in his own. "See you in the morning, little one," 

Din watched carefully, his breath catching as Luke's attention turned to him. The air turned, lifting into something sweet and anticipatory as Luke looked up, something in his eyes softening as they considered one another. 

Luke took Din's hand and quickly squeezed it, the warmth of his hand almost too much for Din to bear. "Goodnight," 

"Goodnight, Luke," 

And Din watched with his heart in his throat as Luke entered his tent, unable to do the same. It was as if something had cracked and spilled open in Din's chest. Something warm and welcoming, a feeling of _home_ he hadn't felt since his parents died. 

Din smiled, looking down at Luke's tent before turning to his own and retiring for the night. 

… 

The days blended together, after that. Each one began with Luke's meditation with the child in the wee hours of the morning. Luke and the child hovered when they meditated, usually out of sight lest the others get suspicious. Din stood guard, sometimes talking over the route with Vanth, but more often just watching. The journey was less than halfway through, and this schedule suited Din. It was predictable, honest. The child was growing in his powers day by day. Luke practiced hovering objects with the child, initially Din's waterskin, passing it gently with the force. Grogu was able to manipulate objects with incredible accuracy, Luke told Din later that morning, his voice bright and excited. Din ran his finger up and down Luke's hand, smiling widely at his _jetii's_ blush.

They breakfasted, then. Milked the bantha's, refilled the water skins and took down camp. The hours crossing the desert were hot but comfortable, punctuated with a gentle conversation between him and his companions under the burning suns. There was the memorable afternoon Din had hung a hammock under his bantha's belly for Grogu to nap in the shade, helping Varre attach a similar one to her bantha with a laugh. The evenings were the same, a krayt dragon stew mixed with the vegetables and cacti they found on the dunes, washing dishes, letting the babies play in the underground river while Varre, Luke and Din did the washing. 

Then night, the familiar struggle of letting his tent flap close, undressing him and the child in the dark in preparation for bed. Trying desperately not to listen as Luke did the same beside him, not putting too much thought into the fact that it was Luke who pitched his tent beside Din's every night. Luke, who held his hand, squeezing it tightly before whispering goodnight. Luke, who at dinner the night before, had rested his hand on Din's thigh before rising from the stone they sat on together. 

Din recalled the night Luke had taught him how to dig a temporary well. The procedure was relatively easy. They dug a divot into the sand a metre deep and a metre wide attached a finicky instrument Luke had built the night before to the opening, laying the pot they used for dinner in the bottom. Luke showed Din how to lay a piece of thin plasteel over the hole, securing the edges with sand and dropping a stone into the centre. 

"It's so the sun can collect the water; all sand holds water," he explained, leaning back against a rocky outcropping while Din observed this work of genius Luke had constructed. "Dehydration is death on Tatooine. I learned this as a child. All we can do now is wait," 

Wait. It was all they seemed to do. Wait for Varre's finicky _ad_ to feed, wait for the bantha's to graze, and dinner to be prepared. Wait for Grogu to settle when the suns finally set, wait for Luke to call his bluff and leave the lot of them behind. 

More than once, Din had watched as his _jetii_ looked longingly at the horizon. He wondered what Luke was thinking, what he was looking for. Was there someone waiting for him back home? Someone he loved? 

Their journey had an end goal, Mos Eisley. Luke had to return to Tython and retrieve his droid, Din, to find his covert and begin a new life. Their paths would fork, and Din couldn't bear the thought of leaving the man behind. But as he looked at Luke that night over the flames, beneath the moons and stars, his hair silver and beautiful in the moonlight, he couldn't help but wonder. Would he come? If Din asked? 

As the journey grew in depth and familiarity, as Din grew used to the sight of the dawn and the sunset, the gentle conversation of his companions as they traversed dunes and valleys and rocky outcrops, so did he ease into himself. These feelings swelled and ebbed as the days passed, as they prepared a variation of the same stew they made every evening, as he and Luke hunted through caves for water and cacti fit for consumption. Luke was just as present as he always was, his presence a balm and a burr simultaneously. Close, but not close enough.

They lay together at night and talked about the stars, their hands inches from the other as they pretended not to notice. Din whispered confessions to his covert when sleep came, the most desperate and despicable thoughts and dreams as they sieved through his mind like sand through his fingers. He repeated the list of those he knew who had passed on to himself more often than he remembered doing before, his mother and father, grandmother and two aunts who had died on his home planet. The list grew longer as he grew older, the order unchanging, stagnant. Everyone had those who had marched on to the _manda_ before them, the length of the list was a matter of circumstance. He held vigil over their caravan when his watch came, his eyes catching the light of Luke's tent as he struggled to maintain focus. Din knew that Cobb suspected his struggle, but so Din had also noticed Vanth's eye catching Laele Plebb's when he thought the man wasn't looking. They sat together in companionship, the silence stretching on like the road before them. 

The news of Fett's takeover of the syndicate had softened where it was once jagged and rough. For all they knew, the marshals of Mos Eisley and Mos Espa already knew; it had already been six days since Luke's vision. They had no choice but to continue, Mos Pelgo's need for supplies and Din and Luke's need to escape outweighed all else. The journey would take six more days if the weather held. 

Six more days with Luke before his _jetii_ left them forever. 

…

_On the hills below the Seeing Stone on Tython, an astromech droid uses the last of the fuel of an abandoned rebellion X-Wing to send a coded message to Chandrila. The message is short, written in binary, containing, among other things, an urgent request for aid._

_The droid is in remarkable shape, considering the damage the ship he arrived in is in. The astromech's power charge is dangerously low, and as it deliberates its next course of action, a transport enters atmo. The droid considers battle, assuming correctly that the incoming transport contains enemies, but the ship is in poor condition and is unable to be piloted without his master._

_The astromech rolls behind an embankment and considers its next course of action. Unbeknownst to the droid, a faint beep sounds from the cockpit. The message has been delivered._

_Help is on its way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I spent a good amount of time looking at maps of Tatooine in the past couple of days. Most are fanmade recreations based on video games, some are just descriptive while others are topographic, but the best I found was a rendering made by a fella on Reddit (jedimaster1138) which actually contained a legend and distances, marking Mos Espa and Mos Eisley 140km from one another. Unfortunately, Mos Pelgo isn't on any of the maps, so its distance relative to the others has been made up with inferences to how fast Din travelled between Mos Pelgo and Mos Eisley on a speeder in Ep. 10.  
> Considering a walking pace of 20km a day (maybe less, given that they have children and a bunch of supplies), the journey is long if you're travelling on a bantha. 12 days, which is a little over 2 weeks, galactic standard.  
> I hope that you're enjoying this as much as I am :) Thank you so much for your continued support!!! I love to hear all of your thoughts :)  
> Say hi on Tumblr @leiainhoth  
> xoxo  
> V


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke, Din and the child continue their journey to Mos Espa, and Din makes a startling discovery

The early morning light stirs Luke from a daydream, and he blinks his eyes open with a grin. It was the sixth morning of their journey, the sixth day of traversing the desert waste of Tatooine with strangers and friends alike, and he was _enjoying_ it. Surely more than one should enjoy journeying across dunes on the back of a bantha. But he was. He was at peace— _true_ peace— perhaps for the first time since he had left Tatooine in the first place all those years ago.

There was peace to be had, even when Luke thought himself incapable of relaxing outside of his morning meditations, this was it. This was what he had been searching for, this _feeling,_ this realization that his endless searching would never be victorious. That perhaps what he needed was to be still, be still and _listen._

The force was like the wind, here. It ebbed and flowed, the energy of all living things tangled in a web, connecting each and every thing to another. It swelled around Grogu, the child small in his father's lap, dipping and swaying around the Mandalorian. Luke looked within, pleased and in awe of the feeling of oneness that the force had always given him. There was still so much Luke didn't know. So many secrets and techniques that had been lost, fallen to time. He wanted to learn, wanted to listen, but his world was so _noisy,_ engines and footsteps and clanging metal. There was no use for the force on Chandrila, on Coruscant, on any of the core worlds. Whatever the Jedi order used to be before the war was gone, now. It was up to Luke to decide how it would continue; _if_ it would continue: the future of the Jedi was in his hands.

It was a lot of pressure, Luke thought with a reflective exhale, a pressure that had been placed on him with the expectation that he would fulfill it. But he was older, now. Not necessarily wiser, but perhaps warier. Less anticipatory, more thankful; not often expectant of good things to come his way. It made him feel old, and Leia had teased him about it when he told her. But he was a Jedi master, damn it. What the order looked like, what it felt like, was up to him. And nothing Leia could say would change his mind.

Luke opened his eyes from his musings and looked around, not that there was much to look at. They were still far enough from Mos Espa that the landscape was unfamiliar. And even if he had, as a youth trapped here, he wasn't focused on the sand so much as the sky. Wishing beyond his wildest hopes that one day he'd be able to pilot something better than a landspeeder or a skyhopper, that he'd join the Academy and never have to step foot on Tatooine again.

It was a dream he had garnered for much of his childhood, unaware of his father's prowess as a pilot beyond what Owen and Beru had told him. Unaware, but still hopeful that there was something greater waiting for him out there.

But that was years ago, Luke thought with a pain of nostalgia, almost ten years. He wasn't a youth anymore, and any great hopes he held for his future were quiet ones. Find more force-sensitive younglings, set up a temple on a peaceful planet. Spend time with his sister, and Han and Lando and Chewie, try and keep his droids running smoothly and his lightsaber in one piece. He wanted a life for himself that was different than that of a rebellion hero, something…predictable, something still. Something with a garden and a familiar bed, and… if he could be selfish, perhaps a companion. Someone to keep him company, someone to love and cherish and grow old with. Luke wanted that life, a quiet life.

He had spent his years in the rebellion being what the alliance needed him to be; a damn good pilot, a leader, an example: the poster boy for hope and peace across the galaxy. But he wasn't that man anymore. He didn't want to be a hero; he wanted _peace_ . Because with heroism came fame, recognition; Luke didn't _want_ people to come up to him and thank him for his service. He didn't want those he didn't know to shake his hand and congratulate him on what he did for the rebellion. He didn't want the insignia of the kriffing Death Star painted on the starboard wing of his X-wing, a concrete and constant reminder of what he had done in the name of the rebellion.

A million souls had died that day, and there were still nights Luke woke up in a cold sweat imagining their fiery deaths. Still times when he sat down suddenly in great pain, still moments where he was overcome with the overwhelming swells of grief and loss. Leia tried to comfort him, as did the droids in the medbay after he came to that day. _It wasn't your fault,_ they told him, pressing the personal comm code for the rebellion psychologist into his palm. _You did what had to be done. More people would've died, whole systems would have been destroyed had we not done it first._

 _We_ , they had said, and Luke remembered. Had not _we_ done it first. But there was no _we,_ was there? There were the half dozen pilots behind him, and later Han and Chewie in the _Falcon,_ but it was Luke who made the shot and ended it all. Luke, who would hold those souls with him for the rest of his days.

And all because Luke wanted to be a hero, all because he wanted nothing more than to leave when all that he had ever truly needed was at hand, sitting on a moisture farm in Tatooine.

It was easy to say it was all behind him; the war was over. He was lucky that so many of his friends had survived, that he still had his X-wing and Artoo and Chewie and Han and Leia, but…something was missing. Of course, he had lost friends; he wasn't the only man to be orphaned and alone. But it wasn't just that; it was _companionship_ that Luke craved. A companion who didn't care that he was Luke Skywalker of the rebel alliance, who didn't mind the lightning scars on his arms and belly, someone who didn't _care_ he had a missing hand and debilitating nightmares; someone who wouldn't ask questions he didn't want to answer. Someone to joke with him, to _care_ for him, someone who would hold him tight and not let him go.

Luke remembered crumbling the comm code in his palm, nodding to the droid so they would leave, promising to himself that he'd never call them no matter how bad it got. He couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the looks of _disappointment_ when they saw him for who he truly was. As if he'd let them down; as if the great impenetrable Luke Skywalker was a fluke, not a hero, just a kid from Tatooine with strange powers and a good trigger finger. He wasn't all that they thought he was.

And so, for five years, he tried to forget.

And frankly speaking, he was more or less successful. He watched with pride and happiness as Leia and the other generals in the rebellion became the pillars of the New Republic, stood by their side when Han and Leia wed. He had held his twin's hand and congratulated her on her pregnancy, and when Ben Solo was born with early signs of force-sensitivity, promised to teach him the ways of the Jedi. And others did the same; his friends settled down with partners and friends, started families and adopted orphans from every corner of the galaxy. Started a new life, and Luke watched with a feeling close to loneliness as he failed to do the same.

It wasn't that he _wasn't_ interested; there were more than one pilot and hotshot with a blaster he had taken a fancy to over the course of the war. Luke wasn't the only one to sneak a bedfellow into his compartment after dark, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted something deeper, something less desperate, something more than a stolen kiss in a cupboard and fumbling hands in the dark. Luke wanted something, _someone_ , he could hold tightly, someone to comfort him, to stand by him; someone who didn't sleep with Luke Skywalker for the rights to goading brags at sabacc tables and crowded cantinas. As if was a pawn, just another ace in an X-wing with no future and no past and no interest in living beyond the moment.

Leia tried to set him up once or twice, but Luke hadn't taken her up on it. He wasn't interested in senators or state officials, less so in their stories about the war. Didn't they get it? Didn't they understand that all Luke wanted to do was to forget? Move on? He didn't _want_ to be the grand hero for the rest of his days? Why couldn't anyone understand that all Luke wanted was for others to treat him like a person? Not a legend, not a hero, but just as _himself?_

And then, out of nowhere, he received the distress call from Tython; and everything changed in a moment. His ill-timed philosophical musings of a better life put on hold for a child calling desperately for help.

The cost had been his X-wing and Artoo, who (no doubt) would have words to share with Luke when they returned to rescue him, but it had been worth it.

Because now, he had friends.

Friends who neither knew nor cared that he was Luke Skywalker of the rebel alliance; Luke Skywalker, the man who blew up the Death Star. Luke Skywalker, the Jedi, the last Jedi in the galaxy, and Darth Vader's only son. They didn't know, they didn't mind. They treated Luke as one of their own with no questions asked. To them, he was just that, _Luke_ , and who he was to them was who he was inside. The one with an eye for mechanics, a love of flying, a fair knowledge of desert flora and fauna. He was Grogu's teacher, Scoeeri and Laele's friend. He was Varre's companion as Grogu played with her baby, A'vod and Cor's helper into the underground cave network Luke had _definitely_ not known existed. He was the mechanic who helped Cobb Vanth with his modified speeder when it broke down the night before.

But to the Mandalorian, it was strangely unclear. What was Luke to him?

Surely a friend, Luke thought with careful consideration, trying not to be nosy and look behind him to see for himself. He was intelligent, but quiet, kind. Soft and generous with those around him, despite the thick armour about him at all times. They were friends, right? The man trusted Luke to watch his child, to teach him the ways of the Jedi. All Luke had done was meditate with the child, but so far, Grogu's father had accompanied them every morning, exiting the tent he and the child shared fully armoured with the baby in his arms. It became more difficult to focus with the Mandalorian so near (damn, his thoughts were _blinding),_ but Luke tried. But even as he did, even as he taught the child about the bond he was forming between them, he couldn't ignore the primary strand Grogu had. Luke could feel the golden strands connecting Grogu to his father twist and fold together with time, evolving from strings to cords to bolts, impenetrable. And this man was apparently just that, not force-sensitive at all.

There was something amused in Grogu's consciousness when Luke asked the boy about it. Clearly, the baby knew something Din didn't, but he didn't pry. Whatever it was that had brought Grogu and his father together had been formed in and amongst significant loss. Grogu had told Luke about the day his father adopted him, describing the feelings of warmth and oneness he experienced whenever his father held him close. The warmth the baby exuded through the force when he spoke about his _buir_ was dazzling, and when the child asked about Luke's _buir,_ his parents, he deflated with a brush of pain at the loss he had experienced. He didn't want to shock the child, but he told him that his parents were gone, passed on; but they had loved Luke very much.

The child sent a wave of understanding and affection, and Luke felt a small hand grip his own. _Together,_ the baby seemed to say, his eyes wide and open. _Even if you have no_ buir _of your own, my family is yours to share._

Luke let his eyes drift shut, a smile widening as a tear slipped down his cheek. _What would it be,_ Luke wondered, his mind struggling to face the impossible, _what would it be to take what had been offered? What would it be to have a family of his own?_

Luke thought of the baby's father, the warmth Luke felt whenever he considered him. He and the child were so happy together, so content to stay close, and it brought a laugh to his throat when Luke remembered the times the Mandalorian tossed his child in the air for his amusement, the evening he carved figures out of tough stalks of grass for the children to play with. More so when he and his companion were alone, but Luke didn't quite know _what_ to think about that.

It was easier to talk when the air was still, and the world was dark, Luke decided, trying not to look too much into his and the Mandalorian's time together. He remembered asking, just that morning, in fact, if his companion could teach him the language of the Tuskens. It had been an innocent enough inquiry, stemming from nothing but good intentions. For the whole time he'd known her, Luke had been using the force to read the baseline level of Varre's thoughts and emotions to communicate with her. He still felt uneasy about it and wanted to speak freely when Grogu and her baby played together. But the Mandalorian had stuttered out something unintelligible, gesturing strangely before Luke got the message. Too far. It was just as well, he supposed he could ask Cobb. Even the basics would be better than nothing.

But there was something to be said for having an excuse to spend more time with his companion. Luke enjoyed his company; it was simple, complimentary. The Mandalorian didn't ask prying questions, didn't seem to want anything of him other than his companionship. In the soft evening light when the day's travel was done, they sat together and watched the suns set, Grogu often lulling in his father's arms. It was in these times that Luke spoke, knowing that the Mandalorian wouldn't mind. He talked about his childhood spent not far from here, his family, his sister. Spoke about how proud he was of Grogu's growth in the short time they had been together, joked about the funny expression on Laele's face when he caught Cobb staring at him.

His companion laughed a little at that. Luke felt his chest warming, the deep tones of his laugh raising a blush to Luke's cheeks. Was that all it took to make him laugh? It _had_ been funny, Cobb's expressions were longing and soft, and it was nice to take the piss out of someone else, for a change. For so innocent a recollection, for so simple a reason, his companion had laughed; and Luke wanted nothing more than to hear him do it again.

When they hitched up their bantha's the next morning to begin, Luke couldn't help but feel an itch on the back of his neck and turned without thinking to see the Mandalorian looking right at him. Luke had never found it difficult to understand his companion's expressions even with the helmet, but he had blushed anyway. Even the implication that the Mandalorian had been looking in his direction was enough to bring a stuttering breath to Luke's chest. The suns were bright; perhaps he didn't notice the flush that had settled across Luke's face. Or maybe he had; Luke thought with a strange lurch in his gut; the Mandalorian _didn't look away_ but tilted his head in recognition instead.

 _Kriff,_ how was he supposed to turn away?

Luke closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, turning his head firmly in front of him, refusing to budge his position no matter how much he might want to.

Luckily or not, their journey across the dunes was much the same as it always was, the steps of his bantha slow and lurching, massaging and opening Luke's sit bones and hip joints in a way they hadn't ever been massaged before. A sand crawler appeared in the far north-east, and Luke jerked at the sound of A'Vor, Cobb and the Mandalorian drawing their rifles.

Luke started at the sound of Grogu protesting in the Mandalorian's saddlebag. He turned, catching his companion's eye with what he hoped to be wordless understanding, halting his bantha in his tracks to let the Mandalorian catch up.

"Can you," the Mandalorian said softly, not wishing the others to overhear. "Can you convince the Jawas to stay away?"

Luke nodded, "If you want me to. Do you want me to take the child? You'll need both hands to use your rifle,"

"Yes," the Mandalorian said, handing Luke the squirming child. Luke sent a wave of calm to the baby and felt him settle in Luke's lap, unhappy and concerned but willing to remain quiet for the time being. Luke took a deep breath, steadying his mind before reaching out across the sand, feeling inside him a flurry of activity. He had never fully mastered the Jedi mind tricks he had seen Ben perform; they felt so invasive, so personal, to actively work against one's will to achieve his ends. Luke didn't think the Jawas would mind, and at the very least, they owed them for stripping the Mandalorian's ship and nearly killing him, that day he first found the child. He felt only a twinge of guilt in redirecting them to the southwest, far away from their little caravan.

"They seem to be turning," Cobb said from ahead of them, a pair of binocs in his hands. Luke blinked his eyes open with a smile.

"Imagine that," the Mandalorian said softly, and Luke smiled, pleased. Cobb lowered his blaster, and the Mandalorian did the same, lowering his heavy pulse rifle to its holster on the side of his bantha.

"Can I keep the child for the morning?" Luke asked, looking down at Grogu, calming down now that his father was still. "He could use a change of scenery."

"If you'd like to," the Mandalorian said but then hesitated, fishing in his saddlebag for something. "He's fine in the satchel, but I have a head covering for him."

That was how Luke found himself fixing a canvas hat to the baby's head, laughing at its floppy brim and too wide chin strap as the baby cooed at this strange thing on his body.

"It's a hat, Grogu," Luke said, adjusting the garment so it didn't fall. "It'll keep you safe in the sun; your dad doesn't want you to get sunburnt,"

Luke understood the hesitancy; he had applied a sunblock patch every day of his life before he left Tatooine and resumed the habit now that he'd returned without a hitch. But Luke recalled the Mandalorian's hesitancy in applying one onto the child, unsure if it would irritate his skin or cause a rash. Luke had watched with affection, helping the Mandalorian drape the baby in his tunics so the beating suns would stay off the child's skin. Grogu didn't seem to mind, and was fascinated with this strange fabric in front of his face.

"Keep it on, Grogu, that's it," Luke said with a laugh, settling the baby between himself and the saddle horn. "Look, I have one too!"

Grogu turned and smiled toothily at Luke's sun gear, babbling happily about everything and nothing and all of the things around.

Luke felt the Mandalorian's gaze on him for the entirety of the morning, and when Luke turned with the pretence of showing the baby where his father was, Luke flushed, a hesitant smile on his face.

Cobb called a rest at noon, and Luke dismounted with the baby, leading his bantha to the embankment. He looked around, noticing the others were occupied with meal preparations and turned to the baby.

"Should we get your dad before I teach you something new?"

The baby called an affirmative, and Luke looked over in search of the Mandalorian, waving him over when Luke caught his eye beside Cobb Vanth.

Despite what must be burdensome armour, the Mandalorian jogged over to where Luke stood with the child, his body tense.

"Is the baby okay?"

"Yes," Luke said with a smile, looking down at the child on his hip. "Do you see the stake? I'm going to teach him how to manipulate it, to perform an action with the force." Luke turned and looked over his shoulder, unsurprised to see the others were distracted. "The others won't see; it's a good opportunity. I thought you might want to watch."

"Thank you," The Mandalorian said after a minute, fixing his attention on Luke without delay.

"Okay, Grogu," Luke said, feeling his face flush as he felt the intensity of the Mandalorian's gaze on him. "Do you remember what I told you? About the force? Do you remember?"

The baby babbled, both verbally and through their force bond, and Luke grinned. "Yes, that's right. I want you to try and focus on the stake, drive it deep into the ground."

"Uh?"

"Yes," Luke confirmed, stepping back so the baby could see. "The one attached to my bantha. The animal needs to graze, but we want it to stay with the others." Luke listened for a moment and smiled at the child. "No, It won't hurt the bantha,"

The baby spoke again, asking to be set down, and Luke took a step back as the child focused. The Mandalorian took a step closer to Luke, and Luke looked within, happy to see that his companion was excited and relaxed. Without thinking about it, Luke took one of the Mandalorian's fingers and hooked it around his own. He smiled to himself, mindful of the child but very aware of the roughness of the Mandalorian's glove and the warmth of his hand beneath it. Luke ran a finger up and down the seam and tried to steady his breathing. His companion turned his gaze from the baby to Luke before taking Luke's hand in his own and holding it firmly.

"Oh, sorry, Grogu," Luke stuttered, not able to think clearly with Din's hand wrapped around his. "No, I'm watching, I promise."

"Go ahead, _ad'ika,"_ the Mandalorian said softly, tilting his head to see the baby better. "Listen to your teacher,"

Grogu extended one hand, and the stake lifted, shifting in the air. The baby's eyes closed in concentration, and Luke watched with anticipation as the metal stake turned point side down, burying itself deep in the sand.

"Yes, good _job,_ Grogu!" Luke said, taking the child in his arms and spinning him around with a laugh in his throat. "I knew you could do it!"

Luke turned once more and then stopped, unsteady on his feet. But the Mandalorian rested one hand on Luke's hip with a firm grip, steadying him. The hand was large and warm, Luke thought with a shudder, comforting even with his gloves, and Luke's breath caught as his companion shifted and pulled Luke in close. Luke looked up, his heart pounding in his chest meeting the reflection of his flushed face in the Mandalorian's visor. _Was it finally happening?_

The baby babbled in Luke's arms, and his companion looked down at the child, a laugh sounding deep and husky through the helmet's vocoder. Luke grinned at the child's question, eager and happy in the force. Din lifted his hands, (regretfully, Luke thought with a sigh), from Luke's hip, and he let the child spill into his father's arms.

"Yes, I am proud of you, _ad'ika,"_ his companion said, bumping his forehead against the child's. "You did well,"

"You heard him?" Luke said after a pause, his breath catching. The child hadn't spoken verbally but through his thoughts and the force.

"Yes," the Mandalorian said, looking at Luke with what he assumed to be a strange expression. "Did you—"

"Yes," Luke said, looking up at his companion in wonder. "He didn't speak out loud,"

"No,"

"But you heard him?"

"Sometimes," his companion said after a pause, carefully choosing his words. "Sometimes, when I'm calm, when I…relax, I can hear the child speak in my head. It's not like speaking out loud, and it's not sentences, but I can understand him, and he can understand me. I can _feel_ the baby in my head,"

"Oh," Luke said, looking up at the Mandalorian in wonder.

"Is that…is that bad?"

"No!" Luke said, shaking himself from his reverie. "No, it's not bad. It's unusual, but not bad. I can do it too; it's how the child and I speak to one another. But you don't…you can't… you _told_ me—"

"Can't what?" his companion said.

"You can't use the force," Luke said, looking up entreatingly. "You told me the day we met. You said that you had no sorcery, that you weren't like the baby,"

"I'm not,"

"But you can _speak_ to him?"

"I—I didn't know," the Mandalorian said, "I don't understand it. But he's my child; we have the bond of family."

Luke shook his head, shocked. If the Mandalorian was force sensitive… that changed everything. Since Yoda died on Dagobah, it had been years that he had felt the presence of another force-sensitive adult. Someone who could understand, someone who knew what it was like. He wouldn't be alone anymore.

"Luke," the Mandalorian said, letting the child down and pressing his hands into Luke's biceps. "You look faint,"

"I'm—I'm not,"

"Let's…let's sit down, just in case," the Mandalorian said, leading Luke to a rocky outcropping. He fished something out of his satchel and handed it to Luke. A water skin, full to bursting. "Drink, please,"

Luke removed the seal and did as his companion asked, draining the skin in one. The water was warm, but Luke was thirstier than he thought he was. And it was…nice. Nice to be taken care of like this. Luke and the Mandalorian watched in quiet companionship as the child toddled over to Cobb, who took the baby in his arms and continued his conversation with Cor like nothing had changed.

"Thank you," Luke said softly, and the Mandalorian turned to face him.

"Please take care of yourself, Luke," his companion said softly, resting a hand on Luke's knee. "I can't…I can't bear it…with the child, it's different, but with _you_..."

"With me?" Luke asked, not fully understanding.

The Mandalorian let out a stiff exhale, taking Luke's hands in his own, and Luke's breath caught when his companion ran his thumbs over the backs of Luke's hands. "Whatever this is, whatever…gifts I have, it makes no difference. I haven't changed. It's the baby that matters. He means… _you_ mean…"

Luke looked up, their closeness bringing the stiff breaths and uneasy countenance of the Mandalorian to his immediate attention. He looked unsteady, unsure, and his force signature was vivid scarlet: the Mandalorian was afraid.

"Hey," Luke said, squeezing the Mandalorian's hands. "You don't need to say it. I understand,"

Luke's companion let out a shaky breath, and Luke sat by his side as he caught his breath, feeling very much so like he had interrupted a confession he had waited the whole of his life to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr! @leiainhoth  
> xoxo  
> V


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Luke and the others reach the outskirts of Mos Espa. Luke and Din have an important conversation about the future.

Several days passed.

The caravan continued its journey, making good time across the dunes and sand. The child has grown comfortable with this strange arrangement, often asking Luke through his powers to sit with him on his bantha, and something soft in Din's heart lurched at the sight. The baby looked so _right_ in Luke's arms, babbling happily as they journeyed on. He couldn't help but watch, couldn't help but sink into the warmth Luke and the child exuded. And more than once, Vanth looked back, and Din hastily shifted his gaze, struggling to focus on the desert and possible exterior threats with Luke so near.

By sunset the next day, they were five kilometres from Mos Espa, the dim lights of the town stark against the long shadows of the desert. Their journey was nearing its end; Mos Eisley was two days away. Din hoped to broker a deal with the mechanic in Mos Eisley, find some guild work, perhaps. Make enough credits to secure a ship like the _Crest_ and leave Tatooine for…what?

What was his destination?

Din shifted his feet in the sand, feeling distinctly unmoored. He hadn't given himself leave, intentionally or otherwise, to think beyond what was waiting for them at the end of their journey. It had seemed so far off, so irrelevant. Why focus on the future when the present was so much better? He knew Luke was going to leave; he _knew_ it. Even if he didn't like it, he forced himself to move past it. Luke would leave, he had to leave, to Tython for his droid and his ship, and then…and then…

Din turned his head, dismissing the thought. Luke was still here, still warm and smiling behind him, asking after the child. Din let the baby spill into Luke's arms and shut his eyes tightly as Luke's hand squeezed his own. It was becoming more and more painful to bear, this _closeness_ , this familiarity. Surely it had been years, decades since Din had let another in the way he did Luke. The warmth of Luke's hand, the broadness of his smile, the flop of golden hair in the desert air shocked the breath from Din's lungs. He watched with a pull in his belly as his _jetii_ walked away with his son in his arms. He was growing attached— perhaps dangerously attached. Luke was leaving, he thought with a pain, turning around with tightly shut eyes; best get used to it.

Din spoke to Vanth with intention about their plans in Mos Espa. It had already been agreed that the others would wait on the outskirts for Vanth, Luke, and Din to consult with Mos Espa's marshal before moving on. It shouldn't take longer than an hour, maybe two. The marshal was amiable, Vanth assured him, she would understand and make preparations. Din shared a nod with his companion, satisfied.

Din thought back to the night before when Luke had shared his hopes of contacting his sister, Leia, on Chandrila. It was a simple request, finding a commlink in town, and Din was eager to help; if only to spend more time with his _jetii,_ if only to have several hours of walking through the town with only Luke on his mind. There was a scuffle behind him, and Din turned to see the smiling face of Grogu in Luke's arms; and Din watched with a pain as Luke smiled warmly, and then looked past him, over the ridge, towards the first semblance of civilization they'd seen in over a week. Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that when Luke left, he might never see him again. 

Dinner was the same as it always was, stew with vegetables and bantha milk, and Din tried to bury himself in tasks, nonsensical things, to keep his hands busy and his mind blank. He couldn't bear thinking about it, about the rush of heat when Luke brushed past him, the way his ears listened carefully for Luke's voice. It was too much, too much. He couldn't bear it. So he led the bantha's to water, refilled the water skins. Waited until Luke settled before doing the same. 

Din couldn't sleep.

The night was relatively young; the fire cracked in the distance, but his mind was full and his body unsettled. Din rolled over, his body weary, but his mind was wide awake. It must be late, it felt like he had lain there for hours, but he was curiously, _annoyingly,_ unable to find rest. The baby slept on beside him, his body soft against Din's belly. Grogu was calm, now, sleeping peacefully. Din turned his head, listening carefully for the quiet snores of Luke in the tent beside him, eager to rest with the familiar sounds of even breath, and was both startled and confused when silence met him. 

He was still dressed, leggings and a tunic, and pulled his helmet on as an afterthought. The rest of his _beskar'gam_ lined the edges of the tent, carefully polished and tended to from his anxious hands. He hadn't the space to give his armour the honour it deserved, and besides, the tent was for sleeping and nothing more. He pulled the child to his chest and left his bedroll with anxious thoughts cycling through his mind.

Perhaps he'd been up late talking; maybe he'd needed to go for a walk to clear his head. He wouldn't have been taken; surely Din would have heard. Had Luke even come to bed? Was he still out there, somewhere? Alone?

Din tried to steady his heart; there was an explanation, there had to be. Luke wouldn't escape into the night before telling someone, Din, surely. He'd've told Din if he was planning on leaving, wouldn't he?

Din turned around, his boots catching on the loose rocks as he searched desperately. Luke wasn't in the cave; he wasn't sitting beside A'Vor tending the fire. The flap of his tent was loose, the strings untied but not torn. The sand before his tent was undisturbed, footsteps leading downhill and away. Wherever Luke was, he had left willingly. He hadn't been captured. Din activated the heat-sensing software in his HUD, cycling through the settings until he saw the warm red footsteps of his companion intermixed with others. The boot print was unique, easy enough to follow. Din turned, the baby still in his arms, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to put on his vambraces before he left the tent in the middle of the night.

"Hey,"

If not for the baby, he'd've jumped a metre. Luke was below him, sitting cross-legged in the grasses. He looked calm and relaxed, wrapped in the blanket from his bedroll. Din let out a shaky breath, pulling the child close to him as he slipped down the embankment to sit beside him.

"I was looking for you," Din said after a minute, letting the baby readjust himself in Din's arms, his lips smacking contentedly before burrowing his little head on Din's neck.

"I know," Luke said softly, opening his eyes with a smile. "Your thoughts are loud,"

"So you've said," Din said, the ease of his posture belaying the harshness of his tone. He hadn't meant to be sarcastic, but the fear had been so real. He couldn't bear the thought…the very _idea…_ Luke's absence had sparked something unkind and almost _possessive_ in him. He didn't want his _jetii_ to go, not where Din himself couldn't follow.

For days, Din had watched, watched as Luke looked longingly off into the horizon as if everything he had ever wanted or desired was waiting for him there. Din had expected Luke to leave; what business had he to stay? Din had nothing to offer, no ship, no transport, no credits, surely. Everything he had to his name had been destroyed by the empire. And Luke wanted to leave; Din could see it in his eyes; blue, open, expectant of good things waiting for him.

Din had nothing; the child, undoubtedly, his pulse rifle, a blaster. Bolts and solar chargers in excess, the baby's clothes in a cloth bag. His possessions in and of themselves were little in comparison to his _beskar'gam._ But that wasn't the point, was it? Luke _wanted_ to leave, and something in Din's heart would snap to see his _jetii_ go.

"I came to watch the stars," Luke said by way of an explanation, laying back against a blanket. He looked so soft, Din thought with a brush of happiness, laying there with his head cradled in his palms. Din watched with a shudder in his breath as Luke let his legs fall, the turn of his ankle escaping the warmth of the blanket. Din knew that his _jetii_ was lethal. The way he had wielded his _jetii'kad,_ the strength behind his blows, it was clear to him and to anyone he met in the field of battle that he had mastered his craft. But it was different seeing him like this; he was wearing the clothes Vanth had given him, looking soft and comfortable bundled in blankets. He looked so young, so carefree, the crease Din wanted so dearly to brush away smoothed between his eyebrows. The long line of him, the gentle rise of his collarbones, the sharp crease of his jaw, the soft light in his eyes…

Luke shifted, his body so soft in the moonlight. Din didn't mind when his little _jetii_ spoke; it was one of the things that so endeared him to Din when they first met. There weren't many in his life who let their guard down like he did. It was one thing to speak of things long gone, of a home, a family that had been lost. It was another to speak fondly of the present, of things that were close to his heart. Din had smiled until his jaw ached as Luke spoke of his friends, his twin sister with her young son, her husband, the former smuggler. Chewbacca the Wookie, his droids, a pilot named Wedge Antilles. Luke had friends, lots of them. Surely more than Din had. But it wasn't just the companions that Luke spoke of, but the _connection_. He had friends who cared about him, waiting for him back home. Something in his tone made Din feel homesick for a home he had never known.

And after dinner, sitting in the fading light of day, Din let himself sink into Luke's stories, the tales of friendship and camaraderie and survival, knowing, all the while, that the warm feeling he felt when Luke was around was swelling with time. Growing, expanding, settling in as a comfortable sort of feeling. Not desperate or rushed, but soft; intentional. Quiet, like the feeling of Luke's hand in his and the baby in his arms, watching the suns set with peace settling like still water in his heart.

Din tried to reciprocate, to share his life with his _jetii_ , mindful that his stories didn't often have happy endings, and he found himself often prefacing his tales with notes on how his past is riddled with pain and injustice. He wished that he had more joy to offer. His _jetii_ was life and light, the shining sun of day, and never before had Din felt more reflective, more morose, reflecting the brightness Luke offered without restraint, without providing any in return. But all Luke ever did was nod, smile, thank him for his thoughts. And over time, it became easier to speak as Luke did, about his joys and sorrows and happy memories. About his mother, his father. His lost covert, all those he had loved and lost.

They often spoke of the past day, of the present. Din never thought he'd look forward to speaking to Luke this way, but once the day's work was finished and they sat together under the stars, thoughts spilled, and laughter was shared. They spoke of the endless combinations they tried with the same ingredients, the stew virtually unchanging and bland. They laughed over Laele's cluelessness to Cobb's affections, the softness in A'Vod's posture when he held his baby. Din teased Luke for the way he made caff, watery and bitter and full of grounds, and Din's heart leapt when Luke snorted, leaning his head against Din's shoulder. The child came up often, Grogu constantly flittering through Din and Luke's conversations. Worries if he was eating enough, happiness over his success, anxiety over a sunspot Din had found on the child's shoulder. It felt nice, soothing. Almost as if it were a holiday and not a necessary journey. Din found himself relaxing more in Luke's presence than he had with another in years, and smiled to himself with joy in his heart when his little _jetii_ spoke and they took the time to laugh together.

"Chandrila is too bright, so is Coruscant," Luke said quietly, leaning back against the sand. Din looked up, the stars pixilated and dim through his visor but tried to see what Luke saw, anyway. "I haven't seen this many stars in _years_ ,"

"I like to watch them through the viewport," Din began, his voice soft in the cool light. "The way they rush past in hyperspace."

"Yes," Luke said, a smile on his lips. "I like that too."

They sat in the stillness, the sound of insects and soft wind hanging about them like stardust. It had been…years, probably longer, since Din had let himself relax this way. With Luke, Din didn't have to pretend to be still. He _could_ relax, knowing that should the worst happen, he didn't have to fight alone. He didn't have to be the lone protector, the singular offence. Luke was there; he was capable and powerful and able. Willing, as strange as it was, to fight by his side without hesitation.

"My parents told me about the stars," Din said softly, wrapping his arms around the baby and leaning back as Luke did. "When I was young, they spoke about the stories of our planet, there were many of them, and I was young when they died. I can't remember what was said…but I liked hearing my mother speak. She was soft-spoken; her skin smelt like cinnamon and star berries. She had—she had a headdress she wore on feast days, and her slippers were embroidered with flowers and birds."

"She sounds beautiful," Luke said, his voice gentle.

"Yes," Din said, his heart torn with the memory. "She was. Very beautiful,"

"Thank you for telling me," Luke said, letting his hand catch Din's, and he marvelled at the sensation, so much different without gloves between them. Luke's hand was warm, soft, his fingers delicate and long. Din looked over, and his heart softened, swelled, the feeling akin to light on his bare face, the joy when the child laughed, the contentment he felt after a good meal. It felt like…like…

Din wanted so desperately to say that he wasn't scrambling, but he _was._ Something deep inside him both wanted to bolt and to sink deeper, to let himself be uncomfortable and vulnerable; something that wanted to take Luke's hand and ask him to stay. It was inconsequential; where would Luke go? He was just as trapped as Din was on this journey of theirs, just as unable to leave or move forward alone. But that wasn't what Din meant, wasn't what he was thinking. He didn't want this journey to end. He didn't want to arrive in Mos Espa, didn't want to part ways in Mos Eisley. He wanted his _jetii_ to stay. He wanted him to _stay_.

The lone Mandalorian, the man without a covert, without a ship, without a _home,_ wherever he went, wherever he settled, he wanted Luke to come too. There was a part of him that was tied to this man, something warm and steady and not entirely his own. Something that would burn like the fire of a thousand suns if his _jetii_ agreed to stand by his side. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Din wanted nothing more than to put his creed aside, to leave it be, to love this man fully and without reservation, to prove to him that this wasn't just feeling, it was purposeful. Intentional, circling closer and closer until they were one together. 

The baby mewled in Din's arms. Luke turned to watch, and Din's breath caught; his _jetii's_ eyes were filled to bursting with love and affection. He looked so comfortable, so _settled._ Almost as if Luke liked Din's presence almost as much as Din enjoyed his. Din was dressed simply, his tunic and leggings he wore to bed. Other than the blankets around the child, he was exposed to the chilly air, the baby must be cold. Din reached for the bantha-fur blanket, the soft thing that had slipped while Luke spoke and tucked it about the baby. It was brushed out and carefully made, gifted to him by Varre when their journey began. Din brushed a hand over the baby's belly, but Grogu was warm, the blue blanket and his many layers keeping him comfortable.

"I'm surprised he's still awake," Luke said softly, looking over at the baby with a gentle smile.

"He slept for a bit this afternoon," Din said, thinking back to the blanket he had secured over the child's saddlebag so he could sleep safely within it without baking in the suns heat. Grogu had slept for four hours and would be active for some time yet. "I'm surprised he kept his socks on, he's stubborn," 

"Must've learned it from his _buir_ _,_ then," 

Din snorted, resting his hands on the child's back. 

Luke sat up, reaching beneath him for the blanket he had wrapped around himself and pulled the corner past him, over Din's hips, his legs, his boots. The child snuggled closer in the warmth, and Din couldn't _breathe._ Luke was there; Luke was warm and soft, shifting against him. His legs tangled with Din's, his bare feet pressing into the loose fabric of Din's leggings. His breath was hot in Din's shoulder, his body tucked close, his hand resting next to Din's on the child's back; it was so _close_.

"Is he speaking to you?" Din asked, taking a shuddering breath as Luke shifted closer.

"Yes," Luke said, laughing softly after a pause. "He thinks the bantha fur is itchy; it scratches his nose."

Din grinned, not that Luke or the baby could see, and wrapped the blue blanket closer about him in recompense. "It'll keep you warm, _morut'yc._ I know it's uncomfortable."

"I've never heard you say that word before," Luke said with a yawn, smiling into Din's shoulder.

"It—it means safe," Din said, not sure why he was hesitating. Mando'a was a dying language; Din himself knew very little, mostly nouns and adjectives. Words like _gedet'ye, vor entye, yaim._ Din remembered with a pain the day his elders had taught the _ade_ of his covert the words they knew. _Please,_ they said, repeating the word in Mando'a. Thank you, home, safe. Words referring a child to a parent, different names for food and drink. Honour, justice, mercy— the words that meant something to his covert were those that had survived. To Din, too. The words of a home he had never known seeped deep into his bones, impressing on him the importance of remembering what had come before. Din wondered if he'd have anyone but the baby to teach them to. Wondered if there were any _mando'ade_ left in the Outer Rim. His covert was lost, now. The way was maintained. The words he kept deep in his heart, the vow he made to his child, to his covert, to his _buire_ the day he passed the trials on his thirteenth name day. He shared the language freely with Luke, in the knowledge that he'd hold the words just as tightly as Din did.

"Safe," Luke said, rolling the Mando'a translation in his mouth. Din waited anxiously, a ball of something tight he didn't have a name for spinning in his belly. " _Mo…mo roo…morut'yc,"_

"Yes, that's it," Din said, letting his head tip to the side so he could see Luke full on. His mouth was soft, Din thought. Soft and pink and warm; Luke's face had relaxed, and the tightness Din had struggled to see all those nights ago in their house at Mos Pelgo faded from his memory. This Luke was wide with wonder, his eyes fixed on the stars, rolling the hard consonants of the word about in his mouth, grinning to himself when he said them correctly.

"Do you feel safe?"

Instantly, Din regretted asking. Luke's eyebrows creased in thought, straying instantly from his inherent softness as he considered Din's question. It was a foolish one; how safe could one feel camped out in the desert? How safe could Luke feel, stranded on a planet he wanted so desperately to leave, bound together with strangers and torn apart from his life? How safe could one feel laying so near to a man such as he?

Din hesitated, his body tensing and full of uncertainty, and the baby mewled softly, upset and confused at his father's balk.

Luke noticed, his eyebrows softening, and reached a hand between them to rest on the soft skin of Din's wrist. The touch was gentle, two delicate fingers resting on his pulse point, both polite and gently entreating. But it was almost too much. His bare skin hadn't been touched by another in _decades_ . His body, his vessel was not his own; he was anonymous, one of many. To be a Mandalorian is to be inconsequential, and Din took a shuddering breath at the realization that if he wanted to, he _could_ be safe here. If he let himself, Luke could make him feel safe.

"Yes," Luke said softly, his knee drawing in the sand as he sat up on an elbow. Luke looked between them at his fingers, turning his expression to meet Din's eyes through his visor. Never before had he wished to be visible, for others to see his face. What would Luke say if he was to see? Would Luke balk, feel uncomfortable? Would he like it? What he was, what he looked like beneath his armour? Din knew that it didn't matter; looks didn't matter. To be seen was to look deeply into another soul. Their _runi,_ the very essence of who they were.

Would Luke want to? Would he mind? If he was partial, if he _wanted_ to, _kriff,_ the things Din would do. The things he _wanted_ to do.

Din moved slowly, cupping the child gently in one hand as he leant forward, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath shaky and short; he closed his eyes and blinked them open, sure that he would see Luke hesitate. But he _didn't;_ his eyes were the colour of the sky, bright and _excited,_ and so close to his own. Din swallowed, not thinking straight as he gently rested his helmed forehead against Luke's.

Din could hear Luke's breath, his heartbeat; he could see the dilation of his pupils, the unsteadiness of his grip. Din buried his hands into Luke's hair and wished he could kiss his _jetii_ in the way of his culture, wished for a moment that the Mandalorians didn't exist, the _jetii_ didn't exist. That the universe had faded and fallen and all that remained was the three of them, bound together in this moment. Luke's breath was fast and short, and Din shuddered as Luke's hand snaked between him, resting on the nape of Din's neck, his fingers long and dancing as they tangled in his cowl.

Din felt his eyes flutter close, and then…just at the back of his mind, something warm, something _different,_ something soft and bright pressing gently at the door of his consciousness. Din searched the feeling, surprised and overjoyed to discover it to be something new, something not coming from the baby. It felt older, more sure of itself; it felt like blue eyes and a dimpled smile, golden hair blowing in the breeze.

_Luke_

Din let out a breath, letting the presence in, letting _Luke_ in, not anticipating the feeling of _oneness_ his presence invited. With the child, it was communication, warmth, protection, a bond between a _buir_ and their _ad'ika._ This was something different, something new. Luke was warmth and light, but the _connection,_ Din could _feel_ Luke's thoughts. He could feel the bubbling joy at this closeness, the contentment, the overwhelming feelings of safety, of comfort, of happiness. They were like seeds in the wind, flowing and dipping and fluttering here and there, and Din grinned, the feeling unrestrained and joyful. Happy, he made Luke _happy._

He couldn't remember ever feeling this way before.

He had never… would never… this was _unique_. This was him and Luke; this was a feeling he wanted to rest in forever.

A gentle question danced at the edge of Luke's consciousness, and Din choked, his heart overflowing with happiness.

 _Yes,_ Din said again, tears flooding his eyes. _Yes, yes._

Din wasn't sure how long he pressed against his _jetii,_ against _Luke_ with the child held between them. Wasn't sure how long he kissed him, the warmth of Luke's embrace so soft against him. It might've been minutes, hours. A thought danced on the edge of his consciousness, and Din swallowed with trepidation. He wanted to ask, he wanted to _know_. When this journey drew to an end, he needed to understand what his future was going to be. He couldn't lose Luke, not now. Not after this.

 _If I asked,_ Din thought, blinking his eyes open, his eyes searching into Luke's. _If I asked, would… would you stay?_

Din could feel a bubbling spark of joy, a hum at the back of his mind, like Luke was amused, like he was endeared; and Din's heart leapt even before he responded. _Where else would I go but with you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on tumblr!!! @leiainhoth


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke, Din and Cobb Vanth begin the trip into Mos Espa, Din and Luke strengthen their force bond.

Luke woke with the suns.

Bright light filtered through the canvas of his tent, bringing awareness to the lateness of the hour. He was consistent, an early riser, often waking before the light had breached the horizon. It felt nice to sleep in, to wake feeling rested and calm and safe.

Luke grinned, stretching overhead, letting his fingertips and socked toes brush the walls of his tent, settling back into his sheets with satisfaction.

His second sensation was warmth; Luke couldn't remember ever feeling waking up quite this comfortable. Surely more blankets than what he had brought from Mos Pelgo were draped over him, under him, behind his head and around his feet. He was so _cozy,_ so comfortable and soft. Luke tucked his cool nose under the sheets, his other senses waking slowly in the abundance of warmth.

Luke shut his eyes as the blissful memories of the night before came back with a whirlwind of colour. The Mandalorian hovering over him, beside him, his helmet silver and beautiful in the moonlight, the press of his head against Luke's. Their feet tangled together, helping as his companion kicked off his boots and grinning unabashedly as he came back to Luke's arms. The feeling of his heartbeat against Luke's hand, the shudder of his breath when Luke pulled away, smiling at him under the stars.

It had been a risk, reaching out to his companion in this way, using the force as if it was a tool to be abused and manipulated. As if it was a way to gain a closer connection, a further understanding. He wasn't sure if the Mandalorian would hear him, if he would understand. It was one thing to hear the baby, _maker;_ Grogu was his son. Luke was…was…

And then…and _then…_

He was there, all of him, all at once and all throughout Luke's mind. He was bright and stoic and _beautiful_ in the force. The Mandalorian was able to use it, he _could,_ and Luke shuddered as his companion's mind opened to him like a sail biting the wind. 

He was warm, his consciousness like a sky full of stars, luminescent and hanging gently above them. Luke reached through the force, his fingers anxious to touch, to _understand,_ to grasp and hold tight to that he had been denied for so long. Someone else in his head, in his thoughts, dancing here and there across the singular golden thread connecting them.

Luke was stunned, shocked; there was so much light, reflecting and shining through his mind. He knocked, gently entreating, and his companion's mind spilled forth; warmth and softness and…and _love,_ love for all that was around him. Luke let his eyes flutter shut, let himself sink into his arms, into his mind. Let himself not be a Jedi, a brother, a rebellion hero, but just _Luke._ Just Luke, who he was on the inside. His companion stuttered a laugh, and brightness pulsed between them. Luke could _hear_ him; they could understand one another. Feelings and thoughts and emotions filtered and flowed through their minds. He wasn't alone, not anymore. He had two others, a boy and his father, and between the three of them… the force _sang_.

The Mandalorian pressed his forehead to Luke's, the _beskar_ cool and formidable against him, and let himself _breathe._ Let himself sink into his arms, knowing that he wasn't too much to love, too big a bother. That he was more than a Jedi with the Skywalker name following his like a _phantom._ But to the Mandalorian, to _him…_

Luke had felt it, felt the strength behind the Mandalorian's intentions. Behind his words and actions, the swelling cloud of yellow light, blonde hair and blue eyes…a green lightsaber slicing through the night…

 _Trayc,_ the Mandalorian had thought, his mind swirling with light and life, the bonds between them lengthening, tightening. Growing like vines from strings to cords…

The Mando'a settled over Luke's consciousness like a balm, the words were thick and unfamiliar, but they were said with such purpose, such intention. Whatever they meant, whatever _Luke_ was, and whatever they were together, it was the safest feeling Luke had ever known.

A jolt of pain struck him, the vulnerability of his admittance in and amongst the comfort they had established unmoored him. 

_He thought that Luke was leaving?_

Luke's mind stuttered, unsure how to respond. He felt the hurt, the anxiety, the pain, even, just from looking at his posture. How could he leave now? How could he even think that?

 _You look at the horizon,_ his companion whispered, his voice close to desperate. _Like everything you want is beyond it. I had thought… your sister…_

No, he couldn't help it. He leant forward, shutting his eyes tightly with love in his heart and softer than soft leant down and kissed his forehead, his lips leaving a smudge on the _beskar._ Luke could feel the shuddering gasp, the warmth of his palms, the _love_ across their bond. This was precious; this was softness and light and everything Luke had ever wanted. He couldn't bear it, the thought of leaving him now. 

Luke blushed at the memory, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The moment had felt important, pinnacle, as if they together had overcome some obstacle on the road to…to…

What? Greater intimacy? Continued proximity? Surely, the Mandalorian was a private man, but Luke had watched him, unable to look away, as their journey had continued. Watched as he spoke carefully to Vanth when the caravan slowed to a stop, watched as he conversed with A'Vod, Cor and Varre both verbally and with his hands, using the physical language of the Tusken Raiders.

Luke himself had asked Vanth for lessons just the night before, but the man had scoffed, told him to ask Mando for help. Which didn't help, incidentally, considering that his companion had all but refused (in a stuttering and uncomfortable sort of way) to teach him. Luke didn't understand why; it was convenient, helpful. To be able to speak a common tongue was vital to a closer understanding. Luke wanted to know; he _wanted_ to understand. He had spent nineteen years of his life ignorant and afraid of the Sand People, and he didn't want to be ignorant. He wanted to be better, to learn new things and move past who he used to be. He was a Jedi, dammit— Jedi were the peacekeepers of the galaxy; if he wanted to understand, he had to learn. Simple as that.

Vanth turned away, a grin hidden behind laughing eyes. Luke tossed his hands in the air, defeated.

In the end, the few gestures and words he had picked up on from the others gave him a big enough vocabulary to speak cordially to the Tuskens. Sure, his pronunciation may have been off and his gestures clumsy, but Varre and the others seemed to appreciate the effort, speaking slowly and with care so Luke could better understand. The baby had been with him, sitting between his feet, and Luke grinned at the child's question of Luke's inadequacy when his father seemed to understand without effort. Luke ran a hand over the child's ear, a grin on the edge of his lips.

Why had the Mandalorian turned Luke away?

It wasn't much of an inconvenience, was it? He didn't expect to be fluent; surely passing was enough to get by. Was it the time? The energy? What about Luke's inquiry was uncomfortable for him?

Maybe Luke was too forward, asking to spend more time with him. It was no secret to Luke or any of the others that the Marshal looked to the Mandalorian for answers; they were leaders together. Every time the caravan slowed, Luke watched with something tight in his chest as the Mandalorian dismounted his bantha, tossing his cape behind him and taking the baby in his arms. His words with Vanth were brisk, to the point, discussing the route, any potential dangers along the way. Luke knew better than most that a confrontation with the Sand People was unlikely with some of their own included in the caravan. Bandits and thieves hid in the caves and open plains of Tatooine, but more than one pair of sharp eyes watched the dunes at all times. A'Vod rode behind Vanth, and Luke listened as he spoke, catching words and phrases as he gesticulated to the Marshal. Watched as the Marshal nodded, steering his bantha away from some hidden danger, making camp someplace else for the night.

Other than a Jawa Sandcrawler's appearance a few days before, the dunes were quiet, still. Even the familiar buzz of land speeders and speeder bikes was nil, and more than once, Luke wondered what had happened to make Tatooine this way. Something to do with the syndicate? A big pod race in Mos Espa?

Luke shook his head, amused. He had asked Owen and Beru more than once in his youth to allow him to build a podracer, and as an adult, Luke understood their hesitation (abject horror, more like it). But criminals didn't stop being criminals because of a race, so where was everybody?

The Mandalorian seemed perturbed, but Luke knew that Vanth was relishing their good fortunes. The less danger, the better; they had infants to protect and credits to guard. The relative ease of their journey was just that, a coincidence—one to be both grateful for and slightly wary of.

When the night came and the camp disbanded, Luke signed up for a watch without delay. He wanted to be useful and find time to himself in the business of the day. The schedule was consistent, easy to remember. It was nothing to Luke to stand guard over their little camp while the others slept; it reminded him fondly of the night watches on Hoth during the war. There were three a night, and Luke relished the stillness his watch brought, sitting calmly by the fire with a mug of caf and all the stars to keep him company.

He was vigilant but often let his mind wander as he watched. He thought about the day, the intermixed moments of happiness and boredom on the back of his bantha. He thought about the morning prior and how the Mandalorian had offered a hand to Luke when his foot caught on his bantha's lead. Not laughing (as Vanth and Scoeeri did) but moving gently, untangling his feet and helping him up with a kind hand. His gaze had been lingering, and Luke blushed at the weight of his observation. What was Luke to him?

It became difficult to focus after that. The rest of the morning, Luke tried to meditate, to fix his attention on the lolling thoughts of his bantha and the excitable chatter of the baby. It was difficult, impossible. His mind strayed, his thoughts desperate to tangle with those of his companions.

And now that Luke knew what it felt like, now that they were connected, _strong_ in the force… even the reminder that the gentle familiarity was waiting for him roused him quickly.

He pulled off the blankets with a shiver, dressing for the day with a lightness in his heart. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and brushed the hair from his eyes, ready and excited to begin his morning meditation with Grogu. Ready and excited to see _him_ again.

Luke opened the flap of his tent and stumbled in the light, something bright and silver and large standing at the entrance to his tent. Luke felt a hand taking hold of his wrist, and Luke's hand caught the Mandalorian's vambrace with shaky steps. The baby cooed a welcome, an abbreviated explanation of his father's behaviour communicated through their force bond, and Luke looked up, meeting his eyes.

His companion's thoughts were relaxed, not as easy to discern without direct skin-to-skin contact. But the Mandalorian was happy, content. Two bowls rested gently in his hands, and Luke looked down and then back up, a question on his lips.

"Breakfast," the Mandalorian said softly, placing the meal into Luke's hands. "I know you usually eat later, but try and eat something. We're leaving soon,"

"Thank you," Luke said, his voice dotted with disbelief. He looked down at the second bowl and then to the child, who gurgled unhelpfully. "I'll go and, uh, I'll go and eat with the others,"

"I thought…" the Mandalorian began, his grip on Luke's wrist soft, measured. "I thought we could eat together,"

Luke froze, unsure. He didn't understand his companion's creed, but he respected it. He never removed his helmet, not in front of anyone or for any reason. He ate alone, often on the edge of camp with the baby in his arms. Luke had often wondered if it was lonely if he felt isolated. Eating was a time of laughter, of companionship, and even with the conversation around the fire, Luke's eyes strayed to where he knew his companion was with something close to yearning in his heart.

"Are you sure?" Luke asked, his eyes searching.

"Yes," the Mandalorian said, looking and meeting Luke's eye before reaching down, his hand reaching for Luke's, strong fingers wrapping gently around his. "Come with me?"

"Yes," Luke said.

The Mandalorian led him to the embankment below their tents, putting the bowl on the grass before lowering the baby to his lap. Luke did the same, careful to maintain his distance, but anxious, just the same, to not let go of his companion's hand. His mind swam; he couldn't be trusted with this. His armour was part of the Mandalorian creed; Luke couldn't ask him to remove it, not for Luke. If it was that important to him, he should remove it for someone he cared about, someone he _loved_ —

"You're thinking too loud,"

"So you've said," Luke said, smiling despite his nerves. The bowl of oatmeal sat on his lap, and Luke took a bite just for something to do.

"If you watch…I can take it off. So long as you don't turn and no one sees…"

"Are you sure?" Luke said, and then, softer, resting a hand on his companion's wrist. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable on my behalf,"

"I couldn't…" the Mandalorian said, turning his wrist and taking Luke's hand in return, squeezing it gently. "Not with you,"

Luke grinned, turning his back and settling in. He was facing the camp, but the others were occupied, eating breakfast, making preparations for their trip to Mos Espa. Luke sat very still as the Mandalorian shifted behind him, letting the baby down. He was attentive to every sound, every shift against the sand, knowing that his companion could have already removed his helmet, that he could be there, so close, so _exposed,_ right behind him.

"Can you see the others?" the Mandalorian asks softly. "Can they see us here?"

"No, I don't— the ridge, they shouldn't be able to see behind it," Luke said, stuttering out a breath. Varre, Scoeeri and Laele were doing the washing, Vanth and A'Vod carting water back to the camp for the others to use when they were gone. They were alone, up here on the rise with the wide-open sky before them. Luke looked down, suddenly bashful. Never in his life had someone made him breakfast to seek out his company. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips, and Luke watched with a surge of happiness as the baby toddled out of his father's lap and crawled into Luke's arms.

Behind him, a _hiss_ sounded, and something heavy was set on the ground between them. Luke's heart beat a staccato, clutching both the baby and his breakfast as the realization of his companion's bareness hit him. The Mandalorian trusted him, wanted to spend time with him…after last night, Luke wasn't sure; he couldn't be _positive._ But something had changed, something extraordinary and cataclysmic shifting into place.

Luke kept his eyes fixed on his bowl, on the child vying for his attention, struggling beyond hope to think past the feeling of beskar against his shoulder, the comfortable weight of his companion's hand in his. Could it be this simple? Could _they_ just be, without words, without explanations…could Luke allow himself to settle into this for his own sake?

The whole of his life had been spent in the service of others, other people's wishes, dreams, hopes. It wasn't until the war was over that Luke took time to think about himself, what _he_ wanted now that his service to them was done. He became a Jedi to save the galaxy and stop the Emperor; he became a pilot, a rebel to win the war. But attachments…Luke had spent so many years meditating, studying, searching _desperately_ for the rationale behind the Jedi's quest for intentional loneliness. Who would choose that life? Because what was life without love, without deepening the trust and affections one felt for those they cared about? The order had forbidden them, but how could you love without becoming attached? How could he become one with another without letting them see all of him?

Luke had only known the Mandalorian for a week, standard. Less than ten days, surely not long enough to feel as deeply as he did. But he _did_ feel, and now that they were connected, bound together in the force, it was easy to forget just how short of a time they’d known the other. It was easier still to focus on the present, on the wind and the sand and the feeling of another in his mind. All the time remembering that he was the last of a once-great order, a Jedi master without a temple, without a home. Without a padawan or a creed he fully understood.

 _But for now,_ Luke thought, something close to an ache in his heart. _But for now, just for today…could this be enough?_

The night before, when they sat on this very hill and spoke to one another in the force, it was the same. It was that sensation of oneness, the warmth, the _care_ …and it was still there, even now. _Was this what he had been searching for? Was this_ who _he had been searching for?_

A word, a series of rough consonants and gentle vowels came to mind, said in the quiet moments before sleep. It was in Mando'a, of that Luke had no doubt. His companion had murmured it, his voice deep and low through the modulator in his helmet…maybe he hadn't meant for Luke to hear it, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know what the Mandalorian had said.

"The word you said yesterday," Luke said, taking a bite of oatmeal. Behind him, his companion stiffened, his body taut and tight. Luke didn't have to use the force to know that he had done something wrong. But what? Luke dropped his spoon and lowered his bowl, reaching blindly behind him for the Mandalorian's wrist, wishing he hadn't spoken at all.

There was a pause, and Luke struggled not to fill it. He wanted his companion to come to his own conclusion, to complete his own thought process. He didn't want to interrupt, not again. It was important to him that he didn't; Luke wanted this to be at his pace, too.

" _Tranyc,"_ The Mandalorian said after a minute, leaning back against Luke and taking his hand, rubbing his thumb over Luke's. His voice was deep, smooth. Luke's breath caught, _so this is what he sounded like without his helmet?_ "It means light of the sun in Mando'a…when I saw you last night, when our minds met… that was what I felt. Sunshine— your mind is bright, like the sun,"

Luke leant into his companion's armour, resting against him as his heart leapt. The baby was all over Luke's oatmeal, but he didn't mind. It was as if he'd been given a gift, something precious and full of intention. _In the force, Luke was like the sun._

"I don't fully understand," his companion continued, his voice low and raspy, and something in Luke's belly surged at the sound. "In my head, it used to just be the baby, but now…" the Mandalorian hesitated, searching for the words. "I felt you, pressing as if knocking on a door. I let you in, and you were so _warm,_ so bright. I like it, Luke. Connecting with you, can we…maybe when we're alone—we could try again?

"Yes," Luke said, wanting nothing more than to touch him, pull him near, press his forehead to his companion's in the hopes to feel that closeness again. "Yes, I'd like that too,"

"Did I overstep?" the Mandalorian said, and Luke inhaled too quickly, a shaky breath on his lips. He took Luke's hand, his fingers soft against the inside of his wrist. "You're shaking."

"Your voice…" Luke began, overwhelmed by this but so much more, a tidal wave of happiness. "It's beautiful. I never would've…I thought about it, what you would sound like without your helmet…but _maker—"_

"Is this okay?"

"Yes,"

"Are you _sure_ —"

 _"Yes,"_ Luke repeated, sounding out the word, his lips stumbling over the pronunciation. He wanted to say it right, to show him that he could. This _mattered_ to him, his language, Mando'a was the tongue of his people, and he shared it so freely with Luke, with open hands and love in his words. "Thank you, you've no idea…"

"It's a gift," his companion said, his voice soft. "I can't often share it…but when I can, I want to with you."

…

Luke wished he could stay with him forever, sitting together on the rise, but a scant fifteen minutes later, Luke was atop his bantha with the child in his lap as they departed their camp for Mos Espa.

"We should make good time," Vanth said from beside Luke, some five feet below him on his speeder bike. "With just the three of us, it shouldn't be more than an hour."

"How confident are you that the Marshal will listen?" the Mandalorian asked.

"Fett is, _was,_ the most notorious bounty hunter on Tatooine," Vanth said, turning to face the Mandalorian. "He worked for the syndicate, and later for the Empire…there aren't many in Mos Pelgo, let alone Mos Espa who wouldn't have heard that name before. I'd say our chances are good,"

"And if they're not?"

"Then we convince her," the Marshal said. "A new kingpin on the throne of the syndicate is bound to ruffle some feathers,"

Luke tilted his head, looking back at the Mandalorian. What other choice did they have? His mind swam, dancing from recent events to the true nature of their journey like a weight on a string. The baby squirmed on Luke's lap, his mind like a whirlwind since they hadn't meditated that morning, and Luke sloughed through his thoughts, focusing with intent on what they had to do.

His vision seemed paltry, now. It had been so slight of details, so brief in its duration. What was the word of a stranger to a marshal? Luke may be a Jedi, but that meant next to nothing on Tatooine. He hoped that what he had would be enough to rouse the Marshal into action. 

In place of proper meditation, Luke settled the baby in front of him and closed his eyes, focusing on all that was around him. The day was already warm, and the light on Luke's eyelids was soft and yellow. He felt the baby's imprint cross his consciousness like a splash in the waves, here one moment, gone the next.

 _Close your eyes, Grogu,_ Luke projected across their force bond. The baby protested but settled, his mind quieting as the bantha swayed back and forth. _Feel the force flow through you._

Luke breathed deeply, secure in the knowledge that if he was in any real danger, the Mandalorian would alert him of it. He settled into the sand and the wind and the sun, the soft threads of gold connecting him to his companions and his companions to him. It was still such a surprise, a happy surprise, of course, but a shock, nonetheless. The Mandalorian could sense him, could _project_ to him. They were bonded together in a way Luke hadn't felt since Master Yoda had died. Luke let his mind drift behind him, sensing the air between them shift and change and deepen. Their bond was tenuous, constructed through touch and mutual affection, and Luke wasn't sure if it stretched this far yet. It was a challenge and a _delight_ to seek after him in this way.

Luke sifted past the child's feelings, praising him in his concentration and determination before searching for his father. A golden string, bright and dancing between them, reverberated in Luke's mind. _There,_ Luke thought with a rush. _There he was._

The Mandalorian was luminescent in the force, glowing and reflecting, but his thoughts were muted, as if Luke was listening to him speak from underwater. Luke nudged their bond, asking first for permission. It was a terrible faux pas to enter another's mind unannounced, no matter how honest the intention. Luke understood that this was still new to him, to both of them, and wanted to honour that trust with care and attention.

 _There you are,_ Luke thought with a grin, mindful of the sudden verbal gasp from his companion as he felt it.

 _There I am,_ the Mandalorian responded, his mind shifting rapidly from shock to confusion to understanding to something…something more. Something distinctly _him,_ quiet trust and distilled understanding. Hope; affection, even.

 _I wasn't sure I could reach you without touching_.

Luke felt a snort across their bond and grinned so wide his cheeks hurt.

_This is nice, just the same._

Luke let himself settle into their bond, gathering the loose threads into his hands, sorting and separating them in preparation for weaving. He did it without thinking, strengthening the bond between them, binding the strings connecting their minds together into something strong.

 _Is this…is this okay?_ Luke thought, stopping once he realized what he was doing. He didn't mean to, and his voice was stuttering and unsure. _I didn't ask, I just—_

 _Yes,_ the Mandalorian said with a wave of warmth, something that felt like _blushing._ _Yes._

 _So I can…_ Luke began.

 _Yes,_ the Mandalorian repeated, his voice stuttering and soft across Luke's thoughts. _I liked it, with you, before. If we can…if we can do it again—_

 _I liked it too,_ Luke admitted, a blush staining his cheeks. _Feeling you in my mind. Yes, I can teach you. We can be like this whenever you'd like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love last chapter! You guys blew me away with all of your lovely comments :) This one was beastly to finish, and I'm so glad that it's finally done!!! With any luck, I'll be able to piece together chapter 9 later this week  
> Come say hi on Tumblr! @leiainhoth  
> xoxo  
> V


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Luke and Cobb Vanth enter Mos Espa to seek an audience with the Marshal

Din, Luke and Vanth walked into Mos Espa side by side.

Despite the heat of the day, Din couldn't help the cold chill that crept up his spine as they approached the outskirts. There wassomething he couldn't put his finger on, something or someone who didn't belong there.

He looked over at Luke, standing tall and proud in the trousers and tunic he had worn under his flight suit. His _jetii'kad_ hung on his belt, not quite as a threat, but who would've suspected him otherwise? His hair was loose and bright in the wind, long against the nape of his neck. His face was relaxed but alert, the long line of his throat hidden behind the high collar of his tunic. Din felt the stain of his blush, the warmth flooding his belly as he thought back to before, that night, this morning, the lolling weight of his _jetii_ in his arms before he carried him to bed.

Din couldn't put into words the swelling weight of perfect happiness with Luke so close to him. He had wanted so desperately to sink into this with him, to let himself be still. But it was late, and his _jetii_ needed his sleep. Surely, he'd be more comfortable in his tent, not covered in sand and laying on the ground. Din took a moment, many moments, to just look. To run a finger up Luke's jaw, to trace the line of his eyebrows, the softness of his hair. He let himself be still with Luke, to take in all that he was, all that they could be together if they wanted to. The child was asleep, tucked into Luke's shoulder, and something in Din's heart spilled forth with the sight. His son, his _ad'ika_ , the second member of his clan of two so comfortable with this new man in their lives. Grogu's little hand was tucked into Luke's, heads close together as if they were dreaming the same dreams.

The blankets around Luke were tangled around Din as well, and Din fell back against his elbow, relishing the feeling of Luke's legs between his own, breath shared in the space between them… it would be selfish to stay. Luke needed his rest; he'd be more comfortable on his own, tangled in his own sheets and tucked into his own bedroll; safe, warm, protected. Din wanted that for Luke; he wanted that and more and all the things he couldn't admit to even himself…everything warm and soft and safe was with Luke now.

Slowly, regretfully, Din reached his hands beneath his _jetii_ and knelt down, raising his helm just above his lips, and as if it was a secret, a prized gift, Din leant down and brushed his lips against Luke's jaw.

He was soft, and even in sleep, responsive to Din's touch. Something warm and bright brushed up against Din's consciousness… Din wanted his _jetii_ to know, wanted him to understand…that even if Din never said it, never admitted it…

It was there, all the same. Growing, expanding, swelling with time. This feeling wasn't leaving. The memory of his lips against the scruff of Luke's jaw would stay with him forever.

Din had shut his eyes tightly, clenching his hands as he bent on one knee and lifted his _jetii_ into his arms. Luke held tightly to Grogu, and Din held tightly to Luke, marvelling at the sight of Luke's body tucked so closely to Din's chest. Din lowered his chin, nuzzling Luke's neck as they walked…wishing beyond his austerity, his creed, his _word_ that this would be enough for him. Knowing that he couldn't give himself to another without marriage, without a vow, without express permission. This love wasn't fit for the daylit hours, and something in Din's heart spilled forth with the thought… the very _idea_ of a marriage bond with Luke awakened something he thought had long since died. To be bound to someone like him…to love him, to let his _jetii_ see his face as part of his clan, _kriff,_ he wanted that more than he had words to say.

He walked carefully, moving around the blankets and loose stones, climbing the rise of the embankment. Luke's head was soft against the crook of his throat, his breath euphoric against Din's skin. What would it be like, for Luke to see him? For them to see one another in the light of day, bound together forever?

What would it be to no longer be alone? For Luke to stay with him always? 

Din hesitated at the edge of the embankment, their two tents sitting like sentinels on the rise. What would it be like to wake up next to Luke? To watch as his eyes blinked open, as his body stretched in the early hours of the day? What would it be to allow himself to be happy? To be still? To take what had been offered with two hands, to hold tight and not let go? What would it be to bring his _jetii_ into his bed?

Din hesitated longer than what was honourable, considering dangerous thoughts such as these. Luke was a man grown, a _jetii,_ and despite the swell of love, of affection, he couldn't bear the thought of Luke's discomfort. He deserved all that he had, all that he could give.

It was with mixed feelings that Din lay his _jetii_ down on his bedroll, but other, far more gentle and warm intentions that he lay blanket after blanket on top of him, behind, around. He deserved to be comfortable; Tatooine was so cold at night. He'd give his _jetii'ad_ all that he had for him to be safe and happy forever.

He looked so peaceful, so comfortable, bundled in blankets and lying beneath him that it took everything in Din to leave, to tie the ties and walk away. He pulled the baby from Luke's shoulder, the child squirmed in his arms, unhappy to be out in the cold. But Din took him into his tent and bundled Grogu close, pulling his eyes closed and the blanket tight with a broad smile on his lips.

The morning had been easier, and Din had hesitated for many moments between the fire and Luke's tent, two bowls of oatmeal in hand and the child in his arms. He wasn't sure, things seemed so much more complicated in the light. He was glad he had shown restraint; would he have regretted it had he done what he had wanted if he took Luke in his arms and slept by his side? Would Luke?

Vanth had given him a push, both verbally and physically, in his _jetii's_ direction before he gave himself leave to move.

And he was grateful for it.

Removing his helm had been easy, easier with Luke's rush of breath as he set his _buy'ce_ in the grasses. He wondered what his _jetii_ was thinking as he spoke, as they sat together and ate breakfast side by side. Was he anxious? Nervous? Surely waves of this and more flowed from him like mist, but he was happy, too. A shock of bright light flowed through their bond as Din rested his hand on Luke's, as they sat together in the sunlight with the baby on his lap.

Din shook his head, the pleasant memories distracting him from the present. He tried to look away, to close his mind to the bright onslaught of their bond and focus on the matter at hand. No matter how much he didn't want to. 

Vanth had explained his relationship to the Marshal of Mos Espa on the path here. They had met on a scouting mission some ten standard ago, on the outskirts of town. He thought he was alone, heading in the direction of Mos Eisley for supplies, and she had helped to make a favourable bargain with the Jawas in exchange for information. Tatooine was still occupied by the Empire, and she had heard whispers of the burgeoning rebellion and wanted information on their whereabouts.

"I told her that last I had heard, the Alliance was stationed on Dantooine," Vanth had told them with a sigh. "I heard it off a pilot deep into his cups in the cantina in Mos Espa, years prior. I wasn't sure if it was true, but it was the best that I had. She had a brother there, she told me; he'd been missing for years. He'd been recruited, and she wanted to find him.

"She told me that she was Mos Espa's leader when we got into town, and we parted ways. I haven't heard hide or tail of her since."

"What about the supply runs?"

"She's a busy woman," Vanth said with a sigh. "I know she's still around, but peace is best maintained with distance. We make our trades and go on our way. I wasn't planning on attending this last supply run, but here we are,"

Din rested a hand over the child's head. He knew that Grogu was uneasy; his mind was swimming with thoughts and images and feelings. And when Din concentrated, he could feel how afraid he was. Din let his mind settle, putting his own fears to one side as he focused on the bond with his son, letting it fill him, overwhelm him. He pressed a hand to his little body and sent him waves of love, of protection, of assurance that no matter what happened, he wasn't going to be alone again. They had Luke now, Vanth now. It wasn't just him anymore. If anything happened…

 _Nothing will happen,_ he thought with a desperate sort of conviction, a prayer to the _Manda_ in the hopes that the old gods would hear. _All will remain just as it is, I promise._

The baby gurgled contentedly, and Din slipped away from their bond. His mind felt strangely empty without it, without Grogu's bright flashes of colour dotting his thoughts.

As they passed the outskirts, Vanth had flipped the first moisture farmer they came across a few credits, handing her the reins of their bantha's and parking the speeder bike next to a vaporator. They wouldn't need them, not where they were going. If the outcome of their meeting with the Marshal was favourable, they could continue to Mos Eisley first thing in the morning. If not, a speedy getaway would be impossible without transport.

The air was still, and the growing sounds of Mos Espa rang in his ears. From a distance, the city was a maze of tunnels and serpentine streets. The buildings were close to one another, low to the ground with domed roofs, the same pale stone and baked clay of Mos Eisley and Mos Pelgo. But as they approached, the city felt tight and close, an overwhelming cacophony of smells and noise. From their stalls, merchants shouted out their wares, crockery, clothing, spices. Droids from the Empire and the New Republic moved throughout the crowds, and the smell of roasting Bantha meat filled the air. Smoke hung low in the busy market, and more than one thin and ragged young person sat beneath tents with bits of scrap in their hands, resigned to clean and trade what they had found.

Luke had told Din that Mos Espa had once been a slave port, that his father and grandmother had been traded there for credits years ago. A bitter taste flooded his mouth as they walked past; many were hardened from work, but they were _young,_ faces and bodies stretched in burgeoning youth. They had the look of starvation about them, and Din pinched his eyes closed and forced himself to move on.

Luke wasn't sure if the slave trade still existed, he hadn't been to Mos Espa in almost a decade, and even Leia had little information on the subject. His voice was tight as he spoke, his own views on the subject painfully obvious. Slavery had been born from neglect and Imperial ambitions; Tatooine was isolated, a dustbowl in the Outer Rim, never fully controlled by the Republic or the Empire. But now, the war was over; and Din hoped with everything in him that slavery had died with it.

As they moved further into the city, Din felt the familiar and uncomfortable prickle of many eyes following them. They had agreed that anonymity was a fever dream with Din's armour alone, but he was unwilling to part with it. He was a Mandalorian, his _beskar'gam_ was his honour and pride, and he'd wear it to fulfill his creed. Din knew that it was drawing unwanted attention; more than one curious eye followed them as they walked, more than one pair of heads ducking together as he passed. How often did Mandalorians make berth in a backwater town like this?

 _If there are any left,_ a cynical part of Din's mind reminded him. _If, not should. He hadn't seen one of his kinsmen since the covert had been exposed, since he parted ways with the_ alor _in the forge on Nevarro._

But the _eyes_ , Din hated the attention, the awareness to his presence that his _beskar_ brought. He'd grown used to it over the years, but after so long in the desert, it unnerved him.

Din flipped through the settings on his HUD, observing those around him. The locals were indistinguishable from others, their clothing and mannerisms synchronous with those around them. But Din couldn't ignore it; both his _jetii_ and the child were uneasy, their minds unsettled and on high alert. Could there be Imperial sympathizers here? Disgraced officers and Stormtroopers? The familiar glint of white armour was absent, but that meant little to nothing in a place like this. If the Empire was hunting the child, they could be hidden in plain sight if they knew that he was here, striking only when it was too late.

Din lowered his hand to his blaster, pushing the child's _birikad_ further behind him until he was hidden by Din's cape. The child needed to be protected, no matter what. He would not lose the baby today.

During his time on Tatooine as a young man, he had spent most of his time with the Tuskens, living nomadically beyond the great Dune Sea. He had spent time in Mos Eisley, but Mos Espa was unfamiliar to him. Its corners and side streets seemed to hide threats around every turn. Every person they passed was guilty before proven otherwise; every doorway and alley hid a danger that Din feared before it became apparent. It felt like paranoia, but this feeling…Din couldn't dismiss it. He relied on both Luke and Vanth's history with the town and its inhabitants to find her. And he trusted them; he did. More, perhaps, that he should, but he did anyway. They had fought by his side, protected the child, watched his six as he watched theirs. They were his friends, his _vode,_ despite their distance from the Mandalorian creed. He'd trust them with his life, with his son's life.

The Marshal had to be warned now that Fett had returned. But for all they knew, the town could already be under Fett's occupation. Mos Espa had had a bustling slave trade under the Hutt's, and Din dreaded its more than likely resurgence. But what could they do? They couldn't help everyone; they couldn't fix every problem, even if Fett hadn't made it this far from his palace, if he was the king of the syndicate as Luke had said, it was only a matter of time. Be it spice or dancers or black-market arms, syndicates needed supplies; and other than Mos Eisley, Mos Espa was a likely port of call. Din kept his thoughts to himself, knowing full well that Luke and Vanth were uneasy and followed quietly without a word.

Din felt the brush of Luke's mind against his, the hesitation, something dancing on a knife's edge of fearful trepidation. Din looked over, meeting his _jetii's_ eye. Something was off; something wasn't quite right. Din watched carefully, grateful that the child was in his _birikad_ , behind his cape. Hopefully out of sight. He could feel the weight of his _beskar_ spear and pulse rifle and knew without a shadow of a doubt that should something come, he'd be prepared.

 _Do you feel it too?_ Luke thought, his blue eyes meeting Din's. _I don't like this._

Din's heart thumped rapidly beneath his armour. Their timely escape from Tython was a reminder that the child's hunters were never far behind, never entirely out of scope. Din shuddered to think of why they wanted him, why they hunted him. Why this Moff cared for his son enough to kill to retrieve him.

He struggled to keep his breath steady. He hadn't kept the child's hunters from Luke, but he hadn't spoken about them, either. Luke knew that the Empire was after the baby, knew without words that they would find them eventually. Even in a town like Mos Espa, people were always watching and listening, informants and sympathizers littered the galaxy, and Tatooine was no exception.

But he wasn't alone. He had Vanth, Luke. Both capable warriors, both willing to fight and die by his side. He could feel the baby squirming in his _birikad_ , and Din tried to calm his mind, lest the child grow agitated at Din's restlessness. Since the child had first reached to Din through his powers on the _Crest_ months ago, Din had relished in the closeness. The feeling of _togetherness,_ him and the baby as a pair, a duo, a family. The child had unlocked something in him, spilled forth some hidden truth he could've gone his whole life without knowing. From the first glimpses of another in his thoughts, in his emotions, and coming from a _baby,_ Din's baby. He and the child were entwined now, too tight to ever break apart. But as Din dove deeper in the child's discomfort, he felt it; the anxiety was in him, also. The child looked up at Din with his big eyes, and Din tried to reassure him, confident in the knowledge that he was failing.

 _Yes,_ he told Luke through his thoughts, brushing his mind up against his _jetii's_ . And then, softer. _I feel uneasy._

 _Me too,_ Luke replied, his eyes steady and sure despite the wave of uncertainty Luke felt for the baby. _Stay alert._

They pushed forward.

Vanth seemed to know where he was going, his path steady and unhesitant as they moved through the streets. Din wished that they had backup, had others waiting for them. He couldn't ask the humans from Mos Pelgo, and after speaking with A'Vod and Cor on the matter, they felt safer protecting the caravan. Tuskens wouldn't be readily welcome in Mos Espa anyway. Fett's comm code was tucked into his belt, and Din was almost hesitant to reach for it. Once they had a comm, and Luke had contacted his sister…

They could use the help; there was no denying it. He had felt no misgivings from Fett when they had met. It was an exchange, and hadn't Fett pledged to protect the child? Hadn't he fought by his side, saved his life? It was no use denying how much they could use his help at a time such as this.

 _He's the king of the old Hutt syndicate,_ Din thought, his hands tightening into fists. _He's the kingpin of Tatooine's seedy underbelly. He's a king, and no friend of mine._

And Luke was afraid of him, a fear that Din didn't fully understand. He had listened with bated breath when Luke spoke of the day Jabba the Hutt died, listened when Luke spoke of how Fett had kidnapped Han Solo and brought him in as a bounty, frozen in carbonite and left for dead hanging on a wall. Listened as Luke described his time on Bespin, he heard the _spite_ in his voice when he spoke of his involvement with the Empire.

He had watched Vanth, too, carefully. His fear was real, palpable, hidden carefully from the others, but Din could read him easily. The upturn of his brows, the tightness around his mouth. Vanth's hand was the first to his blaster when Fett's name was mentioned, and it hadn't taken more than a word, a visionfrom a stranger to stir the Marshal into action. Even Fett's name was enough to twist fear into these farmers and miners who had everything to lose from another occupation.

He wasn't green; Din was a man grown. A _beroya,_ a father; too old to be afraid of men hiding in the dark. Fett had given Din no reason not to trust him, but he couldn't ignore his companion's apprehension, their _fear_ even. _If Fett was found,_ Din thought, erecting walls from his mental bonds lest Luke hear him. _If they found him, he'd let him speak. But if it came between him and Luke, him and the_ baby, _Din would put a bolt in Fett's heart and not lose a minute of sleep over it._

Vanth slowed, his steps uneasy over the sand. It was subtle, and Din walked carefully, one hand on his blaster, and quietly adjusted the _birikad_ so the baby was once again behind him. Luke's hand was on his wrist, his gloved hand cool against him, and Din tried to find comfort in the gentle touch. The buildings were close, here. Their rounded roofs slanting towards them, sagging in the heat. The market's sounds were muted, and Vanth's hand was on an unmarked doorway before Din understood what he was doing.

He knocked, his knuckles loud in the silence. It seemed to be in a pattern, two short, one long before Vanth turned to face them.

"Shouldn't be long," he said by way of an explanation. "Hassanah Valore and I go _way_ back,"

The tattle droid extended its eyestalk, and Din shifted his weight, uneasy. This house wasn't any different than the others around, its doorway unmarked and unremarkable. The droid was telling, though. Whoever lived behind it had something to protect… or something to hide.

Vanth pulled a tab of durasteel from his belt, a curious signet on the far corner and held it up for the droid to see. It spoke— too fast for Din to catch— in Huttese before the door slid open.

"After you," Vanth said, and Din shared a look with Luke before his _jetii_ took the lead, his _jetii'kad_ in hand.

The corridor was dark, panels of sunlight staining the stone from skylights far above them. A doorway loomed in front of them, lavishly ornate, carved from dark wood. Vanth took hold of the knocker and knocked in the same pattern he had used on the exterior door. Behind the door, the voices silenced, and footsteps approached.

The child whined from within his _birikad_ , and Din let out a shaky breath, unsure why he was so unsettled. Something felt… _off,_ not quite right.

Gloved fingers caught the soft underside of his wrist, and Din tried to steady his breathing.

The door opened, silent on its hinges, and Din's breath caught.

Four sat at a table that occupied most of the room, and guards stood behind the figures on either end. The conversation had stilted, and more than a dozen eyes turned as the door opened fully.

Din turned to Vanth, noticing the thin line of his mouth, the careful nonchalance of his posture. Was the Marshal of Mos Espa present? There were three or four who fit the Marshal's description, tall, dark. A modified blaster, tall green boots. The guards were dressed in black, blasters and knives on their hips. Holo disks and loose flimsi covered the table; they had interrupted a conference of some kind. An exchange?

There was the sound of heavy footsteps, and an armoured figure cut through the rest.

Boots, black and well-polished; loose trousers, a dark green cuirass. Vambraces over a newly dyed _kute_ and flak vest, the body behind it firm and thickly muscled. A freshly painted _buy'ce,_ the targeting scope retracted. Guns on his hips, his back, tucked into his boots.

Boba Fett had made it to Mos Espa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for all of your continued support! I'm so grateful for all of your kind thoughts, and am always eager to hear your theories or thoughts on what is to come :)  
> Come say hi on tumblr! @leiainhoth  
> xoxo  
> V


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Luke and Vanth meet with the Marshal of Mos Espa; they meet unexpected allies and face unprecedented dangers.

Luke's eyes widened, his heart beating wildly in his chest. His companions' thoughts and feelings littered his surface consciousness, and Luke fought to push past them. The Mandalorian was frozen beside Luke, his thoughts shifting rapidly from one to another. Behind him, tucked in the cloth bag the baby travelled it, Grogu was afraid, confused by the sudden burst of anxiety from his father. Luke sent a wave of calm to the child, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't raise a fuss and make his presence obvious.

Luke looked over at Vanth, his expression wide and afraid, his hand frozen on the butt of his blaster. Luke had suspected that the Marshal was frightened of Fett; his reaction to Luke's vision was telling of just how much havoc his reappearance could reap on Tatooine. What would become of places like Mos Pelgo with a front-loaded crime syndicate on their planet? What would become of the Tuskens should Fett grow tired of them?

Luke had heard of this and worse from the Alliance before Leia had killed Jabba all those years ago. He had seen for himself the way the Hutt's dealt with their enemies, how they were the go-between, the middlemen for crime syndicates spanning the galaxy. Tatooine was a quiet place, a backwater planet far out of scope for many. It was dangerous, but most places were this far into the Outer Rim. And despite what he felt, what he thought and the bad memories surrounding Tatooine, it was his home. This was where he was from, and now that he'd returned, he'd be damned if he didn't defend it.

Luke squeezed the Mandalorian's wrist and took a step forward, levelling his stance and holding his lightsaber hilt with a loose grip. "You're trespassing here,"

Fett scoffed, his voice achingly deep and familiar behind the helmet's modulator. "Skywalker,"

"Fett," Luke said, hoping his voice sounded more the Jedi master and less the Tatooine farmboy. "Where is the Marshal?" Luke continued, putting a mild influence through his voice.

"Just here," a voice sounded from behind Fett. Luke turned to look as a figure rose from the head of the table and removed their hood. "I'm well, there's no need for animosity,"

"Are you well?" Vanth asked, his voice entreating and careful. "Can you speak freely?"

"Yes," she said, dusting off her robes. She was tall, with a broad face. But her eyes were kind, and when Luke focused, she was calm, relaxed. She hadn't been forced or coerced. Whatever it was that she was doing with Fett, she had chosen to do it freely.

"You have nothing to fear from her, little  _ jetii,"  _ Fett said, crossing his arms over his chest, his body turned towards Luke. "The Marshal is not being held against her will," he continued, pressing a closed fist against his breastplate. "On my honour,"

From beside him and within, through their bond, his companion pushed towards Luke with intention. Their bond was so new, and even with physical touch to ground it, Luke felt a flush of resolve as the Mandalorian pressed his thoughts into Luke's mind.

_ Don't be afraid; let him speak.  _

" _ Su cuy'gar, vod,"  _ his companion said carefully, taking another step forward.

" _ Su cuy'gar,"  _ Fett replied companionably, taking the Mandalorian's forearm when it was offered.

"Skywalker had a vision of you retaking the syndicate on Tatooine," the Mandalorian said, his voice steady despite the rush of uncertainty Luke felt through their bond. "We have come to confirm your intentions."

Fett levelled his gaze towards the Mandalorians, and Luke felt the intensity of his glare behind the visor.

"I've retaken the syndicate; that much is true," Fett said, releasing his grip. "But the old way is gone. I am the king of an empire in my name. You have nothing to fear from me."

Luke shifted his feet, unsettled for reasons he had no explanation for.

"I meant what I said,  _ vod,"  _ Fett said, taking a step closer to the Mandalorian, and Luke struggled to stay still and not ignite his sabre, no matter how much he wanted to. "You returned my armour; I owe you a debt. You needn't have run from me; I could've helped you,"

"Skywalker is afraid of you," the Mandalorian said, the bite in his tone painfully apparent. And then, "You worked for the Empire,"

Fett nodded and then did something that Luke didn't expect and removed his helmet. The face beneath it was startling, mottled with scar tissue and burns. But his eyes were levelled and sincere. Beside him, he felt his companion tense and turn away, a burst of shock blinding Luke through their bond. Luke turned, but the Mandalorian averted his gaze, his body tight and unresponsive to Luke's touch.

"In regards to your  _ jetii _ ,  _ vod,  _ Solo sent me tumbling into a sarlaac pit. I was trapped for days, slowly digested and up to my neck in poison. I'd say our grievances are shared, but unnecessary. I hold no hard feelings for the boy,"

"Then why have you come?" Luke shot back.

Fett shifted his feet, holding his helm loosely under his arm. Three of his guard stood ready behind him, armed and ready, but the woman Luke had noticed on  _ Slave I  _ was curiously absent. "Because I wish to offer my assistance. Tatooine has nothing to fear now that the syndicate is under my hand."

"Have you occupied Mos Espa?" Vanth asked.

"No," Fett said, his buckles on his armour jangling as he shifted his weight. He stopped, the t of his visor turning towards Vanth with something peculiar in his stance. "Cobb Vanth— you had my armour,"

The air of the room cooled in an instant, becoming tense and still. Luke pressed a finger into the Mandalorian's pulse point, sending waves of calm and peace to both of his companions. He felt their fear and let it roll over him like the wind, flitting through his thoughts and emotions before releasing it. Fear wouldn't serve them, not here.

"Bought it off some Jawas," Vanth said, standing tall and strong. There was a touch of something in his tone, not quite… not embarrassed, sheepish? Boba Fett's armour was legendary; Luke would've known it the moment he saw it. But someone like Vanth, how could he have known? The Mandalorians were almost extinct; armour and a jetpack to Vanth were just that, tools he could use to survive. And he had treated it well from what his companion had told him, relinquishing it with honour when their deal was complete. Fett's armour had been repainted, the  _ beskar  _ olive green, maroon, and golden, the majority of the scuff marks and blaster residue wiped away. His vision had been startlingly accurate, down to the last detail.

"It was my father's armour before it was mine," Fett said, his words firm but not unkind. "I'm grateful to see it returned. You have my thanks."

The air lifted as if sucked through an airlock, leaving Luke feeling unsteady and breathless. Was this what he had been so afraid of?

_ Fett worked for the Empire,  _ Luke thought, fighting to steady his increasingly unsettled thoughts.  _ He worked for Vader, he's a king, the leader of the syndicate… _ Luke tried to steady his heart rate, to not confuse kindness with morality.

_ And despite what I feel, Fett's no friend of mine.  _

"We've come to warn the Marshal," Luke said, his voice steady and calm. He sent another wave of resolve to the Mandalorian before turning towards Fett. "We came to warn her about you retaking the syndicate."

Fett levelled his gaze on Luke, but he held his gaze, refusing to back down first.

"Have you ill intentions for the Marshal or its inhabitants?"

"If you want to know my business, you will," Fett replied. "But I have matters to take care of, signing a treaty and securing peace in Mos Espa. I hold no animosity towards you or your companions. I keep my word,"

"And what word is that?" the Mandalorian asked, and Fett chuckled, his face steady.

"Been following you,  _ vod _ ," he said, crossing his arms. "You're a tough man to find," 

Luke stopped short, his breath heavy in the air. This whole time, their entire journey… Fett had been looking for them this  _ whole time?  _

"I had people looking, of course," Fett continued, looking over at the Mandalorian with a blank expression. "Mercenaries and hired guns, but mostly Fennec. She's been tailing you since you left Mos Pelgo,"

"Our deal was complete," the Mandalorian said. "You protected the child and reclaimed your armour. Our business is our own; you could have left with honour,"

"Fennec was discreet, as you remember," Fett continued. "I've heard whispers since returning to Tatooine, rumours. I wanted to discover for myself if they were true."

"What is your business in Mos Espa?" Luke said sharply.

"Same as you, I'd expect," Fett said. "Supplies and a stiff drink. There has been talk of Imps, I came to investigate,"

The Mandalorian tensed, drawing the cloth bag behind him almost if by instinct. The child had been silent and still, but Luke could see the curve of a green ear before he was tucked behind his father's cape.

"And I've since heard rumours that the Imps are after a baby," Fett said, and Luke's eyes snapped up to meet his companions, who froze, one hand clutching the strap of Grogu's carrier. "A child who escaped capture on Tython a week ago on my ship, which has since been discovered on Tatooine."

Fett let his helmet fall to the table with a thump, his expression heavy. "I swore to protect the child in exchange for my armour. I mean you no ill will. But the imperials are coming, and it's past time that you were gone,"

"I have no transport," the Mandalorian said, enunciating carefully as if he was frustrated, irate. "We can't leave,"

"Behind the arena, there is a maintenance bay," the Marshal said quickly, rising from her seat and making steps towards Luke and the Mandalorian. "It is old; I cannot guarantee that it will start— it's a relic, a transport from the Clone Wars. But if it does, take it and leave with my thanks. Your cause in coming here was noble," her eyes caught the satchel, and Luke stepped in front of the Mandalorian, shielding the child from view. "And it won't be forgotten,"

Luke turned to face his companions, realizing with a grim sort of satisfaction that many matched his own. He was fearful, apprehensive. Would Fett keep his word? Surely, his coming to Mos Espa and his appearance on Tatooine was not the ill omen they thought it was. His intentions were noble, intentional. Careful, even. Luke took a step towards the table and moved the loose flimsi aside; there were bills of trade, receipts, lists of known contacts. Fett may have been a bounty hunter, a criminal, an imperial sympathizer. Surely he had been on Vader's payroll. But now? Perhaps he wasn't any of those things.

"I misjudged you," Luke said finally, clipping his sabre on his belt with an air of finality. For the first time in his adult life, maybe for the first time  _ ever,  _ Luke felt tall in his stance, sure in his footing. Fett wasn't here for the child; he was here to protect him. He was here to reforge Tatooine in his image, and whoever Boba Fett was now, he was an ally and no enemy of theirs.

Luke felt a hand, gentle and entreating, grip his wrist. The Mandalorian's stance was open, but his grip tightened as Luke turned. "It's time to leave,"

"Fennec is outside," Fett said, turning to Luke with his helmet re-donned. "She has your supplies. We'd better get moving,"

…

They made it as far as the front step before things began to go wrong.

Luke felt the fluctuations of the force, the instincts honed in wartime spinning into intuition. He took his sabre in hand and lit it, the hum and light familiar and soothing. He felt it, the rush of instinct, the push to action.

_ I am one with the force, and the force is with me. _

He followed Fett and the Vanth through unfamiliar alleyways, ducking under tents and canopies, dodging womp rats and droids and children as they moved throughout the streets. He could feel it, stronger perhaps than he had felt it in years; the force was strong with him. The force would protect them.

_ I am one with the force, and the force is with me.  _

The child was panicking, his thoughts bright bursts of colour and sound, his emotions deepening and swelling with time. Luke took hold of their bond and pulled it close, reassuring the child of his strength, of his father's power. He was safe; he was safe. Luke would protect the child with his life.

_ I am one…  _ Luke took a deep breath, forcing a shaky exhale through his lips.  _ I am one with the force.  _ Luke forced himself to repeat it, over and over and over again.  _ I am one with the force, and the force is with me.  _ It was simple, melodic. A reminder that he was never alone, not if he had the force. It had saved him before; it would save him again.

Luke let his eyes flutter shut, following the Mandalorian and their escort without sight, using the sound of rushing footsteps to guide him. The world was overwhelmingly bright and noisy; people were loud. The market was busy, full of informants and spies, townspeople, slaves—children and droids and machines, the suns overhead; hot and bright. The feeling of the force swelled in the market, connecting every living thing to another, the sand, the stones, the air they breathed and the dust below them.

He could feel the Mandalorian, the rush of anxiety over leaving Vanth behind after all they had been through together. The weight of his  _ beskar'gam,  _ the fear over losing the child. Luke let the feelings swell in him like the rush of flowing waters, and with an exhale, released them.

_ I am one with the force … _

Luke took the Mandalorian's hand, feeling the cybernetics of his fingers pull his companion's close. The touch was grounding, reassuring. They had transport; they would make it work. They could fix it, Fett swore to stand by their side if trouble was to come.

Luke pushed back his own apprehension at Fett's assistance. He was an ally, if not a friend. Luke had felt his companion's uneasiness in the days prior concerning Fett; he hadn't the history Luke had. He hadn't been there when Fett had stood beside Vader, tall and proud and resolute. He hadn't known the flush of anger when Luke confronted him in Jabba's palace, entreating for Han's life with Leia's safety hung in the balance. To the Mandalorian, he was an ally, a  _ vode,  _ a man who had been nothing but helpful and attentive the whole time they had known the other. Luke was anxious to leave, the very idea that Imps were after the child… he couldn't bear it. Even if it failed, they would find a way. The Empire was after the baby, but so had others before him, and they had failed. Grogu was safe; Grogu was under his protection. The child was not leaving, not today, not  _ ever.  _

_ …and the force is with me.  _

Fennec walked behind them with a silent tread, her thoughts quiet and still. He took his companion's hand and thought of the power within him, the rush of untapped potential hidden within his  _ beskar  _ shell. He could feel the force moving through him like breath, ebbing and flowing as they walked, as he thought deeply, as he rested a hand over the child in his carrier. He could feel the love he had for the baby in every movement he made, in every word said and action performed. Luke knew that he had aborted their separation on Tython, knew without a shadow of a doubt that he'd've already been in the Empire's possession had Luke not come to their aid. The fear over losing the baby, losing his  _ son,  _ followed the Mandalorian wherever he went. Luke couldn't imagine… couldn't even  _ begin  _ to imagine how much trust it had taken to allow others into his life knowing that any of them could betray him to the Empire. Any of them could reveal his location, and all of it— the whole life they had together as a family— could be gone in a moment.

Luke felt a coldness behind him, a tug through the force, and before he thought about it before he had time to react, the Mandalorian had raised his blaster and shot a figure that Luke hadn't seen. There was screaming, running, a figure freezing in midair before dropping like a stone. Fennec had her scope raised, scanning the market, and Luke took his lightsaber in hand, standing at his companion's back, unnerved that he had missed it.

"I didn't see them," Luke breathed, surprised.

"No, but I did," the Mandalorian said, re-holstering his blaster.

"Not Empire," Fett said, walking over to the body. He flipped it over with his foot, rifling around in his pockets before rising. "An outlier,"

"We should keep moving," Fennec said, shouldering her blaster and nodding at Mando. Fett took the lead, his blaster in hand.

Luke had taken the child's supplies, and the steady weight of the cloth bag hung over his hip as they walked. The Mandalorian had the child, the rifle, his  _ beskar  _ spear and the weight of his armour, and even without a honed connection to the force, he had sensed danger before Luke did. But despite Luke's unease, his companion was rush with grim satisfaction, his mind pulsing warm and red. Despite the danger they were in, despite his apprehension towards Fett and the Empire and his fear for the child, there was something…undeniably  _ distracting _ in seeing the Mandalorian in his element. Luke's hand was warm on his sabre hilt, and his heart thumped in his chest as they walked. His mind swam with thoughts and images, the throbbing beat of the Mandalorian's prowess, the deep rolling sensation of  _ safety  _ that Luke felt walking by his side. It wasn't as if Luke couldn't defend himself; he could. He had proven it (not that he had to) time and time again. But it had been years, maybe even a decade, since Luke had let his guard down enough to be  _ distracted  _ when combat was imminent. There was someone else, now. The Mandalorian was someone capable and powerful and one with the force…someone who could protect Luke when he wasn't able to defend himself.

The thought filled him with warmth, and Luke searched for his Mandalorian, for their bond as it lolled between them like a ship drifting in space. It felt weightless but not unsteady, and Luke took hold of it like a cord, a tether leading him to safety.

_ There he was.  _

The Mandalorian took a shuddering breath, and Luke could  _ feel  _ him. The blood pumping through his veins, the breath in his lungs, the tensing of his muscles…it was like nothing else Luke had ever felt. And his thoughts,  _ kriff,  _ Luke felt them as if they were his own. The Mandalorian was relieved, proud even. Luke felt rolling waves of trust flow off of his companion as they walked, as they slipped into one another's minds like grooves, like interlocking pieces, reconciling as one together.

_ There you are  _

Luke could feel the Mandalorian chuckle before he heard it, could  _ feel  _ the laughter bubble up in his throat, the peace settle like still water in his heart.

_ Here I am  _

Luke felt the bite of his frustration amidst the waves of careful attention. Despite the peace of the moment, Luke couldn't dismiss his anger, the mistrust and then sudden fidelity he felt with Boba Fett, the embarrassment at his presumption all those days ago in Mos Pelgo. Had this all come from that moment? Or before, even; the moment he felt Grogu's mind connect with his own in the open space before Tython…those many days in the desert, camping in caves and hollows. Eating the krayt dragon that his companion had killed, letting the Mandalorian's mind slip into his own like it had always belonged there, laying under the stars with the child between them. Luke felt his companion's pain, the gratification over his quick instincts, the fear he felt for his son, for Luke, for Fett and Fennec. Luke felt the pulse of his thoughts, the strength of his body, the fortifications around his heart…

_ Jedi do not possess, Jedi do not covet. Jedi are one with the force, the peacekeepers of the galaxy _

Luke let the words flow over him, in him, through their bond and into his companion. He reminded himself of the tenets of the Jedi religion, the words and mantras of an order long since gone. He felt the strength of his masters, of his father, the bonds he shared with his sister and her son and let them strengthen him. Uplift him to give him courage and conviction. Because even though their journey was treacherous, even though the Empire was after them, and Grogu's safety was on the line…even with Fett and Fennec and Vanth walking by his side, all he could feel, all he  _ wanted  _ to feel was his companion's mind resting in his.

Just for a moment longer, just for seconds, a breath length. Long enough to make him lightheaded and brave, but not too long to lose his focus.

Luke steadied his breathing, squeezing the Mandalorian's hand in his.

They turned the corner, entering a small square. It was deserted, curiously silent. Luke shifted nervously, swinging in sabre in his hand before turning back to the archway they had entered through.

There was a screech of metal on metal, the sound of boots thundering through the streets. The sound pulsed; echoed. Luke could feel his heartbeat in his throat, in his fingertips, and Luke felt the laser focus of imminent battle, the mentality of this singular mission filling him, raising him. Despite his thoughts, despite his feelings, it didn't  _ matter _ what he wanted. All else could wait.

Overhead a TIE shrieked through the air, and then another; three more. Troopers lined the rooftops, the doorways, dropping from transports and running towards their position with blasters raised. The Empire had found them after all.

_ I am one with the force,  _ Luke thought, an unhinged grin on his lips.  _ I am one with the force, and the force is with me.  _

_ …  _

Luke fought like a demon.

Armour exploded, armoured heads slipped from their shoulders, blasters fell to the dust without hands to grasp them. He could feel the others around him; he could feel their fury, frustration, and anger and let it fill him. Let the desperation he felt for the child's protection lift him, bring strength to his arms and back, power to his sabre. The Mandalorian was behind him, and Luke heard the faint shriek of whistling birds as they were discharged, watched with satisfaction as six troopers hit the dust, dead.

More replaced them, funnelled in the archway and dropping from the rooftops. The Mandalorian ducked, and Luke swung his lightsaber over his head, stopping a strike, disarming and killing them before his companion could blink. Fennec's sniper rifle was knocked from her hands as she dropped, but she rose to her knees, discharging her blaster before her trooper could move. Vanth slipped in front of him, behind him, the muzzle of his modified blaster flashing in the sun. But as many as they killed, as many as they took down, more came to take their place. Fett snarled behind him, his  _ gaffi  _ stick raising in a deadly arc before striking a trooper across the chest, dropping like a stone. Fett turned, blasting two more before tilting his back, launching the missile in his jetpack, cutting off the troopers entrance. The masonry shuddered and collapsed, stones and bricks blocking the opening completely.

Luke swung about, blocking blaster bolts, ducking as a cannon blast exploded on the stone wall behind them.

"Luke!"

He felt it before he saw it, felt the blast against his sternum and the explosion of pain in his chest. He fell to a knee, clutching his side. The baby cried out, his little hands reaching for Luke with a scream in his throat. Fett turned, killing the trooper in front of him, but it was too late. The damage was done.

A scream died in his throat as he fell to the dirt, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp. The pain was blinding, and Luke could feel warmth, sticky and hot fall over his shoulder and down his arm.

"Luke!" the Mandalorian shouted, reaching for him with both hands. Luke blinked his eyes open, his vision clouded and distorted. He saw a trooper rise behind the Mandalorian, but they fell out of Luke's line of sight with a grunt, a blaster bolt blackening on their helmet. "Luke, stay awake; all you have to do is stay awake," his companion whispered, his voice desperate and close. "Stay with me, _cyar'ika;_ you're safe with me. I'll keep you safe; just stay awake,"

Luke felt his eyes drift shut, the pain sharp and tight. Thoughts dripped through his mind like raindrops, one after another. He felt the pain of the child, of his father, of the others as they fought for their lives around them. Luke tried to focus, to garner his thoughts, but it was so hard…everything was dark and sharp and hot, and he wanted to sleep... wanted to rest.. but he couldn't. The Mandalorian had told him to stay awake; he would, for him, Luke would try.

_ Even after all they had been through, all they had seen together…  _ Luke swallowed, his throat tight and wet.  _ He could lose his life and never know his lover's name.  _

Luke blinked his eyes open, the reflective  _ beskar  _ so close to him, and tried to focus on the weight of his companion's head resting on his, the feeling of their hands held tightly together. But he couldn't—he was slipping further and further away.

The last thing Luke remembered was a scream, a desperate and terrifying thing echoing throughout their bond, through his ears, and the sound of too many things to notice happening at once. Then, silence.

_ I am one… I am one with the force… _

_ and the…and the—  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated for the whole of this week to include a battle sequence in this chapter. I knew I wanted to end this chapter this way, with an explosion through the force that Din will have thoughts on next chapter. But I also wanted to explore the rich and complicated history Luke has with Fett in more detail. He must've been so torn, thinking a million things at once, but when it came down to it, when the shot came, and a decision had to be made, Luke trusted him. Maybe not entirely, but certainly enough to trust Fett's instincts in battle, to trust the child's care to his protection.   
> As a side note, and something that's been intentional as I've been writing this piece is the time of day in which each chapter is set. As a rule, I write Din after sunset but before dawn and Luke in the early mornings and afternoons. That was the case for chapters 2-9. However, as Luke and Din grow closer together and their force bond grows, they enter the other's space and time, relying on one another (in a narrative sense) to echo what has come before. The same goes for the words they use to describe the other; Luke is the day, bright, shining; extroverted, open bodied. The words Din uses to describe Luke all fall within this pattern. And as a perfect foil, Din is reflective (quite literally, pun fully intended), luminescent, introverted and quiet. It's fun, I made myself a little cheat sheet of words they use to describe one another, and I love weaving a deeper level of meaning into the narrative, even in an understated and quiet sort of way.  
> Thank you so much for reading, everyone :) I can't tell you how lovely it is to see all of your responses and how happy I am to respond. This work is my baby, and I am always happy to hear your thoughts on it :)  
> xoxo  
> V


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Fett and the others face an Imperial invasion of Mos Espa, and Din fights desperately to save Luke's life.

Din didn't remember much of what happened next. It was as if the world had condensed into one singular moment, growing smaller and smaller before it broke and detonated. Din had felt it, a scream burst from him as if it had been _forced,_ as if it was catatonic, and something burst, cracked, shattered within him— and the shrapnel desolated everything around them. Troopers slammed against walls, off rooftops. Din clenched his hand and tore it to his side, his teeth clenched in fury as a TIE fighter burst into flame, spiralling in the air until it exploded out of sight. Din looked down at Luke, injured and vulnerable and picked up his _jetii'kad,_ unwilling to part with it. The child was still in his _birikad,_ his eyes wide and afraid. Din wished he had comfort to offer for the baby, but his blood screamed for justice. He stepped over Luke's body, still and pale, pulling his spear from his back and lit Luke's sabre.

"If you want them," he snarled, crouching as if ready to pounce. "You'll have to go through me,"

From the collapsed archway, those able to stand fled. Din held his ground, his weapons held aloft. He felt it…the _power_ flowing through him. It brought hyper-focus, a battlefield awareness he hadn't felt since he was a young man. He closed his eyes and raised Luke's sabre into a block, hearing a blaster bolt detonate on the wall behind him. He made quick work of the trooper, throwing his spear with practiced accuracy, pinning them in the chest, retrieving his spear before kicking them down.

He could hear Fett, Vanth and Fennec behind him, around him, but he let the power within him flow like fire, bursting forth from him like a force he couldn't entirely control. The blood from Luke's wound flowed freely; he'd need help sooner than later. But there were still so _many_.

_Look_

Din turned as if forced, his eyes widening at the wave of darkness encroaching from the horizon. The air stilled, anticipatory as if it felt the danger that was about to come. Din hadn't grown up in the desert, but he had heard the warnings, the threat of storms on the warmest days. Dust littered the sky, a wave of darkness approaching from the northeast.

Lightning licked through his bones, and Din swung the sabre in his hands. It felt good, natural, an extension of his arm. It too was sinew and bone, the muscles taut with anticipation. It cracked and bit the air as Din swung, cutting a trooper in half before Din turned it about in his hands, jabbing it behind him and pinning a trooper to the wall. He heard it, their strangled breaths, the stinging heat of the _jetii'kad_ as it made purchase. He let them drop, pulling the sabre from the troopers chest with practiced ease.

A trooper descended from the rooftop, but Din raised his hand, and the trooper _hovered,_ their feet dangling uselessly in the open air. Din clenched his hand tighter, his mind swimming with the _newness_ of it all. But it wasn't new; it was a swelling of thought and emotion, a connection to the…to the…

 _Dammit,_ Din thought, wrenching his fist to one side and turning away as the trooper hit the opposite wall with a _crunch. Maybe I have sorcery after all._

" _Vod,"_ Fett said hesitantly, and it was then— and only then— that Din realized the scope of destruction. It was complete and absolute; dead troopers lined the sand like a macabre carpet, the whiteness jarring in the sunlight. Sounds come back to him first, the wail of dying engines, the sound of screams, far off cries for help. The child, then, restless and anxious in his _birikad,_ one hand reaching desperately to Din's left, to Luke. Din's body felt taut and exhausted, and his breath came short and fast when he looked down.

 _Stars,_ Din's heart thudded like blaster fire in his belly, his hopes sinking as he saw the listlessness in Luke's form, the starburst of blood on his shoulder. Din fell to his knees, his hands cradling his _jetii_ , pulling him close, all the while digging desperately in his utility belt for bacta. Hoping beyond desperate hope that he had some, that it wasn't too late, that his _jetii_ would live to see another day.

His fingers scrambled about, but the pocket was empty. He had the cauterizer, but the wound could be infected, worse than he thought. The blast had darkened the entrance wound, the skin burnt and scabbed beneath his cloak, and Din scrambled at the hem, pulling Luke's tunic out of the way, desperation in his heart and hands. But his fingers were shaking. He couldn't grasp it; the fabric was thick, unyielding. Luke lolled in his arms, his pulse slow and weak.

"Fett," Din said, his voice weak and torn. "Help, please, he needs help,"

The sound of armour moving quickly, upsetting the sand beside him brought Din's awareness back, and his vision swam as he felt a hand, gentle and unyielding, on his shoulder.

"The wounds are serious," Fett said, his words heavy in Din's ear. "He needs evac, immediately,"

"We can't—" Din tried, his voice failing. He couldn't put it into words; he couldn't explain it. The words hung in his throat, thick and heavy, but he couldn't expel them. They couldn't find them, couldn't take them. Not Luke, not his baby. Not now, not after everything they'd been through together. 

Fett helped. He took Din's hands away and made short work of Luke's buttons, pulling the fabric from Luke's wound with a gentleness that Din couldn't quite grasp. Din let his hands fall to Luke's sides, and closed his eyes, trying desperately to reach out to him through their bond. But he couldn't feel him. The space that he had occupied in Din's mind was empty, vacant. A tear slipped down his cheek, chased quickly by another. Wherever Luke was now, he was alone. Din couldn't reach him, couldn't _feel_ him. Not the way he should, not the way he needed to.

Luke's head lolled in the sand, and Din reached for him, cupping his face in his hands. He tried again, closing his eyes, settling his thoughts, projecting his wishes across space and time if only he could hear. If only Luke would understand.

_Come back to me, cyar'ika_

"Here," Vanth said hesitantly, pressing a sealed plasteel package into Fett's hands. Din watched helplessly as Fett ripped open the package and removed the adhesive backing, pressing the bacta patch into Luke's wound. Din let his head fall to Luke's, a kiss shared between them, knowing beyond hope that it might be fruitless. He was shot point-blank, and sometimes…sometimes, there was no coming back. Sometimes injuries never healed, and even _jetii_ could fall in battle…

Din pinched his eyes shut, letting the baby crawl out of his _birikad_ into Luke's arms. He moved slowly, soft mewls escaping as tears fell from his eyes. Din watched as the baby placed his little claws on Luke's belly, his body so small by comparison. And Din felt his heart breaking as his son closed his eyes.

 _Gods,_ Din thought. The energy _burst_ through Grogu, a tidal wave of love, of peace, of security, flowing through his baby's hands into Luke's body. _The baby loved him,_ Din thought with a choke, his thumbs swiping through the dust on Luke's cheekbones. _The baby_ loved _him._

A shot echoed out behind them, and Din hardly noticed as a trooper fell from the rooftop, downed by Fennec's rifle. Vanth and Fennec shared a look, but Fett's eyes were focused on Luke, his hands steady as they wiped blood and debris from his wound.

"We need to move," Vanth said, his voice unsteady. "A storm's coming,"

"Come on, _jetii,"_ Fett murmured, bowing his head.

Din closed his eyes and took hold of their bond, golden, bright as the sun and squeezed it. Brushed up against it with thoughts of healing, repairing; righting that which had been broken. He felt power leave him like a fluctuation of breath, like a gift, a supplication for all Luke had done for them. He felt the press of Luke against him, the memory of Din's lips against his jaw, the feeling of Luke's mind tangling with his. He remembered the joy as they laughed together, the sense of _satisfaction_ he felt when his _cyar'ika_ was near and released it. Like he was expelling joy, truth, his happiness in the hopes that it would bring Din's beloved back to him.

Din felt the power, the _force,_ the energy that Luke had told him about move through him, over him, _because_ of him, and closed his eyes. Praying to his ancestors, to the old gods of Mandalore that the bacta would help, that it would heal him, that it would bring Luke back to him.

Din breathed deep and slow, feeling the child, feeling _Luke,_ the memories they had shared together flow over him like water, and slowly, he _felt_ it. A heartbeat, a faint tremor in his lips, in his throat. A flutter as Luke's eyes blinked to open.

The baby tumbled into Luke's arms, and Luke grimaced as he came to, as his eyes opened and his body tense. Din let his forehead rest against Luke's, pure _relief_ bringing a new slough of tears to his eyes, but Din let them fall, blurring and distorting the beauty of Luke alive beneath him. Din rested a hand on the child's back, thanking him profusely for his aid, for undoubtedly he had helped Luke in the same way he had healed Karga on Nevarro. The baby blinked up at him, sleepy and content, resting in Luke's arms like he had always belonged there.

" _Cyar'ika,"_ Din whispered, uncaring that Fett and the others could hear. His words were for his _jetii_ alone _._

 _There you are,_ Din thought with relief, pressing the whole of his body into Luke's. And then, quiet, a whisper...

_Here I am._

Luke's voice echoed through their bond like a drum, his voice soft but awake. Aware, at least, of the extent of his injuries. Din pressed his forehead closer, reaching gently before pulling Luke into his arms.

"Thank you," he said to Fett, nodding. "Thank you,"

"We need to leave!" Fennec said, strapping her rifle to her back. Din looked up, but the sky was strange, the clearness of the morning gone in a moment. The air was still, electricity and debris loose in the sky, and it wasn't until he met the horizon that he remembered what was coming.

"We can't outrun it," Fett said, rising to his feet. "But we need shelter, quickly."

"They're after the child," Din said in a rush, leaning down and taking Luke and the baby in his arms. He looked at Fett with a wordless question, an inquiry that was more desperate, perhaps than he had words for. He couldn't bear it, the very thought… And Luke was injured. He couldn't fight, and the baby was exhausted. Din needed to care for them, but the thought of losing them…

"The speeder," Fennec said. "It's not far; we haven't time to go back for your ship. Until the storm settles, you couldn't leave, anyway."

Fennec caught Fett's eyes, and he nodded, re-donning his helm and moving towards the archway. "The palace. You'll stay with me until your _jetii_ recovers,"

"We need to go," Vanth reiterated, and Din nodded, adjusting Luke in his arms before following.

…

The wind had risen by the time they reached the speeder. The horizon was dark, the air sparking with lightning. Din moved quickly, laying Luke down on the speeder before joining them. The inhabitants of Mos Espa had long since abandoned their stalls and left the streets, retreating to safety indoors. The air was thick with dust and sand, and Din tucked Luke into his chest as they departed at last, the cloud of sand growing ever nearer.

Fett raced across the dunes with increasing speed, his hands taut over the yoke as he navigated around eddies and valleys. He turned against the tide, listening without looking as Fennec called out instructions.

Din turned around, but the transports of the troopers they had killed were small and growing smaller in the distance. He didn't understand; it was unlike anything he had ever seen; throwing troopers with the _force,_ with the energy Luke and the baby could use… he didn't understand. He thought that he imagined it like it had all been a dream, but it _hadn't_ had it? He had thrown a TIE fighter through the air with his mind. And it had been _easy;_ Din had hardly felt it.

Once Luke was well, once he was awake, he'd ask. He had to know, he needed to understand…if he had sorcery, if he could _use_ this energy to his benefit…

This changed everything. Everything Din had thought to be true was different now. If he could throw men and ships with his mind, dispel his enemies with a wave of his hand…he'd be unstoppable, a force that could protect the baby, protect _Luke._ And if he did… maybe Luke could be safe; they could protect each other. Neither would be without the other again.

Din rolled Luke's _jetii'kad_ in his hands, cupping Luke's body closer to his as Fett navigated through the storm. Vanth sat beside him, motionless and afraid… Din could _feel_ him, not like he felt Luke or the baby… but he could feel how frightened he was. Dust storms were deadly, fast-moving. Within moments they'd be engulfed, but Fett steered away, the speeder's engine whining as he increased their speed.

Din leant over Luke as dust filled the air, protecting his _jetii's_ body with his own. He didn't know where they were, how far away they were from Fett's palace. He didn't know if the Empire was following them, if they knew where Fett was taking him. All he could see, could hear, was the storm, the gentle weight of Luke and the baby in his arms.

The baby whined, and Din shut his eyes, wishing that they would arrive, that they could properly look at Luke, that they could be still…that Din could rest. He could feel the weight of his exertion hitting his body; he was so tired. He had been so afraid of Fett, of what he could do to Tatooine, and he had let that fear fill him, exhaust him. But he wasn't what Din thought he was, what Luke feared he was. He was attentive; he was gentle. He had applied bacta to Luke with care in his actions like they were friends... like Fett cared whether he lived or died. He had fought with honour by Din's side, protecting the baby, protecting his friends. And Din could feel it, could feel the baseline level of Fett's emotions. He was steady, sure of his path. He meant no harm to Luke or Grogu; he'd keep them safe until the storm blew over and Luke recovered.

He was a king, and Boba Fett was going to protect them.

…

Later, Din couldn't remember arriving. He didn't recall his footsteps as they stumbled in the sand; he couldn't feel the weight of Luke and the baby in his arms. Fett had punched in a code, and the storm doors opened with a hiss, but he didn't remember entering. The halls were wide and arched, and Fett must've led him to a bed because his first sensation was the darkness, a firm mattress beneath him and his _jetii_ in his arms.

It might've been hours; _kriff_ it could've been _days_. Din blinked his eyes open, feeling, perhaps for the first time in his life, fully awake the moment he came to awareness. He heard the howling of the wind, the scrape of sand against stone. He could hear the babbling of the child, resting like he always had on Din's chest.

Din wiggled his toes. Other than his boots, he was still fully armoured. And it wasn't until he looked beside him that he noticed, truly noticed, the beautiful sight of his _jetii_ sleeping in his arms.

He looked so _safe,_ so calm, bare from the waist up with bandages lining his shoulder and chest. They looked clean, Din noticed with a sigh of relief, soft and white and carefully wrapped around his wound. Din wondered who had done so, was it Fett? Vanth? Were there healers in the palace who could've attended to him?

Luke sighed in his sleep, nuzzling his head into the space between his helm and his neck, and something inside Din cracked at the sight. A feeling so overwhelming swept through him as peace settled in his heart. It was _happiness_. Din was so happy he could burst. Luke was going to be okay; the baby was safe, sleeping between them. They had escaped the Empire, made peace with Fett. And he was thankful for the storm, for the howling winds and twisting sand… so long as it lasted, no one would find them. They were safe; they could be safe, here.

Din pressed his helmet against Luke, tightening his hold on his _jetii'_ s waist, wishing that Luke could stay safe and happy forever. That Din could hold him, that they could have each other and never let go.

Din ducked his head bashfully as Luke's eyes fluttered open, his arms reaching to pull Luke closer to him. A smile tore at Din's lips as Luke pulled closer, tangling their legs together and resting a hand on Din's cuirass.

"Good morning," Din breathed, pressing his forehead into Luke's. He could feel Luke's bubbling satisfaction before he heard it and relished in the sound of soft laughter as they pulled closer.

"Good morning," Luke whispered, his breath hot on Din's neck.

"How are you feeling?" Din asked, making to rise, but Luke rested a hand on Din's vambrace, and he settled without a word. "Are you well?"

"Yes," Luke said, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulder. "It's tender but healing well. Thank you,"

"I didn't do anything," Din whispered, raising his head to gesture at the baby in Luke's arms. "It was Grogu; he healed you,"

"It wasn't just him," Luke said softly, and a wave of affection flowed through their bond. Din's breath stuttered in his chest, his heart bursting with emotions he hadn't a name for.

"The child—" Din said helplessly, looking at Luke with fear in his eyes.

"No," Luke said quietly, closing his eyes and resting a hand on the child's forehead. "He said he lifted a few troopers from attacking. But that the rest of it was _you,"_

"I can't…I don't—"

"Those are two different things, love," Luke said, his lips forming carefully around the endearment, a smile forming as they looked at one another.

"I—I…"

"You saved me," Luke said, sitting up with a wince, taking Din's hands in his own. "I would have bled out and died had you not taken out the troopers, let alone the TIE's. _Force,_ I don't know if I could've done what you did,"

"You're a Master Jedi," Din said, a touch of desperation in his words. "You have the force within you. I'm—I'm nothing like you,"

"Thank _fuck_ for that," Luke said with a grimace, and Din flushed as Luke's disposition shifted, moving from pain to joy as a smile lit up his face. Something in Din's belly twisted, and he reached for Luke, resting a gentle hand on his chest.

"Don't sit up," he said, increasing the pressure until his _jetii_ laid back against the pillows. "Lay still, you're still injured,"

"It's not me who crushed a TIE fighter midair," Luke said, laughing gently but doing as Din asked. There was something…something increasingly vulnerable for Din to sit above Luke in this way, above him, his hand splayed across Luke's belly. He wanted desperately to move closer, to coax another pained smile from his _jetii's_ lips…but it was too much. Luke looked so exposed, so vulnerable lying beneath him. He thought back to that night in the wilderness, the feeling of their legs tangled together, the weight of his _jetii_ in his arms. How perfect it had felt, that very first time their minds met—the sensation of his lips on Luke's skin, chaste and slow and perfect.

Would he kiss Din again? Would he want to? If the opportunity presented itself…if Luke _asked…_ kriff. Din didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop. If they began, if they chose to…Luke would never leave Din's thoughts. They'd be one together and one parted. One body, one soul…growing and spinning closer and closer until they were indistinguishable from the other.

"You're thinking again," Luke teased, brushing his thumb over the sharp crease of Din's helmet, and something inside of him softened at the gentle touch.

"So you've said,"

"I can… I can convince you to stop," Luke said, wetting his lips. Din's heart stopped, a flush rising up the back of his neck. He took Luke's hands in his, pulling his gloves off with a desperate rush. He needed to feel him, needed to touch him. He needed to know with his hands that Luke was going to be okay. He had denied himself the pleasure of skin-to-skin contact for so long, _decades,_ even. He needed to feel Luke, warm, safe, alive, _protected;_ he _needed_ to know…

Luke's arms snaked behind him, his palms resting like anchors on the soft skin below Din's cuirass. His fingers dipped, touching gently, his nails pulling on the fabric of Din's _kute_ as Din leant forward…

Their foreheads met, the contact blindingly close. Din could hear Luke's breath, his heartbeat, the flutter of thoughts as they cycled through his mind. He could _feel_ how Luke felt; every sensation doubled with mutual satisfaction at the closeness they shared. Luke's thoughts pressed up against Din's, and he shuddered, his breath coming short and fast.

"I thought I was going to lose you," Din breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. "You were so pale; there was so much blood. I can't—I couldn't bear it. Whatever it was, whatever powers I have…all I could think about was protecting you and the baby. I don't understand…"

Luke leant up, pressing a gentle kiss to Din's helmet, right between his eyes. His hands tangled around Din's cowl, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric, soft and warm against his breast.

"I'll show you," Luke said softly, looking up at Din with nothing but warmth and light in his eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Din nodded, his hands tangling in Luke's hair, groaning as Luke's breath grew faster at such a gentle touch.

Luke pressed up against their bond, and suddenly, Din could see himself, moving like a mirage through Luke's memories. He saw troopers move through the air, saw the TIE fighter explode. He saw himself dodge, miraculously, as blaster bolts exploded on the wall behind him. He could see Luke's sabre moving in his hand like an extension of his being, the light green and terrible as it made contact. He saw the baby, safe and protected, saw himself look backwards, hold Luke in his arms… call him _cyar'ika,_ darling, sweetheart, with tears in his eyes…

"What does it mean?" Luke breathed, his eyes wide and vulnerable as he looked up at Din. "You spoke… it means something; your whole body swelled as you spoke."

Din swallowed, feeling the knot in his belly burst forth with a flood of affection. Luke had kissed him, he had _kissed_ him… his feelings were reciprocated. Luke cared for him, maybe…maybe Luke loved him.

Din leant down, resting his forehead against Luke's. His mind swelled with emotion as he felt Luke's arms snake from between them to cup Din's helmet in his hands.

"It's a word I've never said before," Din admitted, his voice desperate and soft. He closed his eyes but felt the burn of Luke's gaze as he spoke, as he confessed. "It's a word for lovers, for you, Luke. It means _beloved."_

"Beloved," Luke breathed, and Din sniffed, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I'm your beloved,"

"Yes," Din whispered, like it was a secret from the universe, a gift to be shared between them. "And you are mine,"

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a dictionary: in order of appearance 
> 
> jetii: Jedi  
> ad'ika: little one, son or daughter. Term of endearment expressed most typically by a parent or parental figure.  
> buir, buire (p): parent, guardian  
> jetii'kad: lightsaber  
> beskar'gam: armour made out of beskar.  
> mando'ade: Mandalorian, plural. Sons and daughters of Mandalore  
> aliit: clan, family. Depends on context, but has ties to identity as well. Where one belongs  
> aliit ori'shya tal'din: "family is more than blood"  
> kute: flight suit, clothes worn beneath the armour.  
> vode: plural form of vod, which means comrade, brother; the bond between Mandalorians  
> beroya: bounty hunter  
> aruetti: traitor, foreigner, outsider  
> shebs: behind, backside  
> riduur/riduure (p): spouse, husband and wife.  
> ad: child, daughter/son  
> manda: the afterlife of the Mandalorian religion, a collective consciousness containing all that it is to be a Mandalorian  
> morut'yc: safe  
> gedet'ye: please  
> vor entye: thank you  
> yaim: home, also has ties to comfort  
> runi: soul, a poetic use; the deepest sense of self  
> trayc: bright, sun-burned. The root of the word is connected to celestial bodies  
> jetii'ad: an endearment, a spliced translation meaning my Jedi  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> birikad: baby carrier  
> cyar’ika: darling, beloved


End file.
